The Handle of Humanity
by Freelancer
Summary: AU as of 4x07. The Colonial Fleet reaches present-day Earth, where they are met with fear, suspicion, and violence. Meanwhile, the budding romance between Adama and Roslin is challenged by duty, pride, and a charismatic ex-terrorist.
1. Prologue

**THE HANDLE OF HUMANITY**

**Disclaimer**: ... dude, if it was mine, I wouldn't be writing "fan fiction."**  
Spoilers**: S3, early S4. See continuity note below.**  
Main Characters**: Bill Adama, Laura Roslin, Tom Zarek, Sharon Agathon, Karl Agathon, Lee Adama, Kara Thrace**  
Continuity Note: **I started writing this story just before the start of Season 4, and the outline was completed prior to episode 4.08, "Sine Qua Non." Everything in here is mostly consistent with the series up until that point; I say "mostly" because it's set after Season 4, and thus I've had to make assumptions to fill in the holes between what we know now and when this takes place. I do read spoilers, but I treat nothing as canon until it airs. I'm doing my very best to stay true to the show we all love so much, but I've put a lot of work into this story and I really don't want to rewrite the whole thing if something drastic happens. I'm sure you understand, because hey, isn't that we write fic? ;) This is just a cover-my-ass thing in case anyone pulls a "zomg ur stupid!!1 that didnt happen, dont u watch the show at all?" If the urge to flame my fic grabs you, please, I beg of you, use proper grammar. Think of the children.

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

**Earth  
The near future**

_ He opened the lid of the jar and touched into the ash inside, watching as some of the fine powder passed through his fingers and some stuck to his warm skin. The sadness inside him welled anew, and he pulled his hand away. It had been several days now, but the pain was as raw and fresh as it had been the moment it happened. He stared at the ash that clung to his fingers, just like he had clung to who it once was. He wondered what he was holding. An arm, an eye, the heart, the brain, a fingernail, the liver, or some combination of everything? It could just as easily be the ash from the fire. He remembered the looks he got when he collected them. He knew why it had to be done, but even so, this wasn't how he wanted it to end. It was unfitting for one so brave, so selfless, and so close to his heart._

_ This was what a human was: dust. Shadows and dust. It didn't matter where they were from – Caprica, Kobol, Earth – in the end, they were all the same thing. They all bled, they all sweat, they all suffered and they all grieved. They all loved, and they all lost. Even the Cylons did. In many ways, they were more human than some of the ones here. The one who fought with everything he had to keep them from making their home here. The one who shot Laura Roslin. The uncountable number who let fear born of ignorance consume them. At least the Cylons weren't cowards._

_ And now, it had come to this. If only he had listened to her! He had a history of choosing what was in his head over what was in his heart, and while it had cost him in the past, he'd always found the strength to go on. Not now. Now, he was no better than these Earth-humans who only hated something because they didn't understand it. Realizing his own ignorance, his own self-righteousness, came at the cost of the only one left whom he had not yet driven out of his life, the one he loved most of all._

_ He was a fool... such a fool. She was right about him, and because he refused to see it, he lost her. Forcing her face out of his mind, he dropped the lid and began to tilt the jar. The ashes poured out the top faster and faster as the angle increased, and the wind caught the remnants of that which should have been his entire world and scattered them among the waves of the churning river below._

_ William Adama let the empty jar fall from his unfeeling hand, then turned his head skyward and cried out his grief to the stars._


	2. Leonis Wine

**CHAPTER ONE****  
Leonis Wine**

_**Colonial One  
**_**On approach toward Jupiter  
Four months earlier  
**

They did it. They actually frakking did it.

William Adama watched a giant gas planet grow steadily larger through a window of the _Colonial One _conference room, a small glass of Leonis wine in one hand and a data printout in the other. The entire fleet was celebrating, and they had every right to: the clues encountered in their long, difficult journey matched the observations made by the scout Raptor that had performed a survey of the system a few days earlier. Eight planets. A yellow star. A massive disk of rocky objects around the outside of the system, along with a similar, but smaller one in the interior, between the smaller terrestrial planets and larger gaseous ones. A blue-green planet with a single moon, the third one in the system, whose initial spectral analysis indicated the capability to supporting life.

Earth.

Home.

The planet outside, nearly big enough to be a star itself, was entirely covered in bands of clouds that were various shades of brown, with one giant red storm in its southern hemisphere breaking the pattern. Four large satellites and numerous smaller ones were in orbit around it, and in the distance, the system's star twinkled like a beacon to guide them to their new home. And somewhere, somewhere in between here and that star, was the place where their long journey would finally come to an end.

"Admiral?"

Tom Zarek's voice brought Adama's mind back to the moment. A half-turn brought the stoic admiral face-to-face with the smiling vice-president, and Zarek clasped him on the shoulder. "Come on, Admiral," the politician continued. "Enjoy yourself for five minutes. You've earned it."

In as civil a manner as he could muster in Zarek's presence, the gravelly-voiced admiral replied, "There's still a lot of work that needs to be done." Indicating the papers in his hand, he said, "I'll need to speak to the president-"

"In due time," Zarek interrupted.

Taking a discreet, but firm hold on Adama's forearm, the vice-president steered the fleet's military leader across the narrow room to the other key members of the Colonial government. President Laura Roslin, their eloquent head of state, greeted the two men with a polite smile and raised her own glass. "Gentlemen."

"Madam President," Adama said.

Roslin's gaze shifted to directly meet Adama's, and her smile widened. He found himself returning the nod to the deeper connection they shared. For a moment, he even forgot Zarek. What a long way the two of them had come. If someone had come up to him before the destruction of the colonies and told him this woman was going to be his best friend and closest confidant, he would have laughed in their face. Now, though, the joke was on him, because just the thought of going a day without Laura Roslin made him ache, especially with all the suffering that led up to this point. She was his hope, and he was her strength; together, they formed the heart and soul of what remained of humanity.

"I was just trying to remind the admiral that it's all right to sit back and relax, but he seems incapable of separating business and pleasure," said Zarek, drawing the attention of the other two back to himself. "Maybe he'll listen to _you_, Laura."

"Thank you, Tom," Roslin returned, her eyes never leaving Adama. "Admiral, I was thinking of getting more wine; would you care to join me?"

"Absolutely."

He offered his arm; she accepted, and together, they walked to a long table at the far end of the room, at one end of which stood a bucket of ice containing a bottle of vintage Leonis. Such a high-quality wine was a rare commodity. It was Tom Zarek who ultimately procured it, though he would not disclose the means; when questioned, he mentioned something about "friends in low places" and changed the subject. Though his efforts may have been off the record, they certainly did not go unappreciated. The Quorum delegates and the select others making up this party of Colonial leaders were not wine connoisseurs by any means, but it was the drink in and of itself that made it matter.

The wine was not there to quench their thirst, but to remind them of the way of life they were trying so hard to preserve. It represented comfort, familiarity, and other such luxuries that were often lost to those facing war and hardship. The distinct tang, silky flow, and smooth, full-bodied scent of richness that came from the drink did not make them forget what had been lost, but it did make those whose taste buds it was now entertaining remember to give thanks for what still remained.

Roslin uncorked the bottle and tipped a small amount of its contents into her glass. A pool of gold appeared at the bottom. This particular wine was noted for its unique golden color; there were whiskeys, beers, and other amber liquids out there that came close, but this wine was as gold as the ring Bill Adama still wore on his left hand a quarter-century after his divorce. Vintage Leonis had another name, one that was certainly believable to any who saw and tasted it: nectar of the gods.

The president held the bottle out to the admiral in an unspoken gesture of offering; he declined with a slight shake of his head, and she returned it to its resting place among the ice. "We had a bottle of this at Richard Adar's inauguration," Roslin reminisced, tilting the glass upward and allowing the liquid to barely touch her lips. A little bit of Leonis went a long way. "I never thought I'd see another occasion where it seemed appropriate."

"_I_ think the celebration is a bit premature," Adama said, casting a look in the direction of Tom Zarek.

Roslin smirked. "I didn't say _this_ was that occasion, but I still wouldn't turn down this wine." With her free hand, she tapped the papers he'd been holding since he arrived. "Are those the charts you mentioned earlier?"

"What, these?" he asked, and gave the papers a rustle. "No, it's fan mail."

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Adama permitted himself to grin at the joke. Roslin chuckled through her smile and took his arm. "What can you tell me about the planet?" she asked as they walked to the other end of the table.

Adama was pleased to see the president seemed about as interested in heralding the discovery with frivolity as he was. "We'll need to do another recon mission or two before we attempt to move the fleet in, but Athena's first run was promising," he said, and set the papers down on the table.

"And people? Is it populated?"

"Very much so." He pushed the top paper aside, and pointed to some figures near the middle of the second sheet. "They appear to be an advanced, industrialized society; not quite on the level of, say, Caprica or Virgon, but probably comparable to Tauron. The population is nonuniformly distributed over the land, with the largest concentrations near the oceans."

"When are you sending the next Raptor?"

"First thing in the morning. The team on _Galactica _is working out a trajectory. The main objective is to find a place where we can make contact."

Adama tipped a few more drops of wine into his mouth and allowed the flavor to settle. Proper occasion or not, Laura was right; vintage Leonis was not something to be refused.

The president nodded in approval; that objective preceded all others. She hoped they would be able to communicate with them. There was no telling how the Earth humans would react when the Colonial fleet jumped into orbit. Hopefully, time had not made them forget their true origins, and they would welcome their brothers and sisters from Kobol with open arms. Now that one war was over, the last thing Laura Roslin wanted was another.

"I wonder if they'll have anything like this," Roslin wondered aloud, examining the contents of her glass.

"Right now I'd settle for a cup of coffee that doesn't taste like it was processed in the tylium refinery."

She chuckled. "So say we all."

The president allowed herself another taste of Leonis, and studied the admiral while savoring the godly nectar. She could hardly believe this was the same gruff, no-nonsense man she'd bumped heads with at what was supposed to be _Galactica_'s decommissioning ceremony all those years ago. Laura Roslin's intentions that day were to do the job that had been asked of her and then get back to the bigger fish she had to fry on Caprica, without giving a second thought to the man called William Adama for the rest of her days. How quickly the end of the world brought about change. She could never have done her job without him, and she dreaded the idea of going their separate ways when all of this was said and done. That was something that could be dealt with later, though; for now, as he would say, they had a mission to complete.

"When do you think the data from tomorrow's run can be analyzed?" Roslin asked, getting back to business.

"It should be fully assessed by tomorrow evening," Adama said. "I'll keep you posted."

"When it's finished, I'd like it to be brought before the Quorum, so we can discuss a plan of action," said Roslin. "You and Major Agathon should probably attend as well. Should I put you on the agenda for the day after tomorrow?"

"I'll let Helo know. He's asked to go along on the recon. I think I'll let him."

"Good. It would be good to have someone with a first-hand account present, while still keeping the meeting as small as possible." Roslin took a step closer to the admiral, and said in a slightly softer tone, "We need to move this along quickly. The people are restless, and it's going to take at least a week to get some sort of system in place. I know you're the last person I would ever need to emphasize this point with, but the thing is, I – we – this government _needs_ you, Bill, just as much now as when we were at war. That won't end when this fleet lands. We have to maintain order, and you are a pillar of that order."

"Don't worry, Laura, I'm not going anywhere," he assured her, "except maybe back to my ship for some rack time. Something tells me we won't be getting much of that for a while."

Roslin had a feeling that she, too, would be desiring coffee that didn't taste like tylium over Leonis wine as the next few days played out. The diloxin had successfully beaten her cancer into remission, but the battleground of her body was left severely weakened. She was prone to exhaustion, and was expecting the time leading up to settling on Earth to take its toll on her. Whatever sleep they _did_ get was bound to be fitful. The ends would justify whatever physical discomfort they had to endure in order to get their people to a place they could call home.

"Regardless..." She let her voice wander, and glanced around the room. Tom Zarek was the only thing on which her eyes rested for more than a heartbeat. Giving her attention back to Adama, she smiled and raised her glass. "The war is over, and Earth is literally on the horizon. The hard part is behind us, Bill."

"I hope you're right, Laura. Who knows what we'll find down there." He raised his glass as well, and touched it to hers. "But it won't be anything we can't handle, with you leading the way."

In unison, they emptied the golden liquid from their glasses in a toast to their fleet, their new home, and to each other.

* * *

**NASA Headquarters  
Washington, DC  
**

The man called Dinakar Tempas had a place in history carved by hard work and a brilliant mind. While these traits aided his ascent to the enviable position of administrator of the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, Tempas was first and foremost a scientist: driven by curiosity and a passion for knowledge, the foundation of the scientific body he led. And, as a scientist, he was both intrigued and terrified by the images with the facsimile _Classified_ stamp sitting before him. He'd spent an hour looking at them before coming in here to make this call. He knew it was something big as soon as he'd received them; his colleagues at the Ames Research Center knew how valuable his time was, and would not waste it with something they believed to be a hoax.

There could be no doubt of the authenticity of the photos. It had come from one of their own probes; the _Palenque_, which was in orbit around Jupiter and studying the Galilean moons, looking for signs of water. What they found instead carried far heavier consequences for humanity. Its controllers turned it in another direction a few hours earlier when a strange object had appeared in the corner of an image of Ganymede, and then proceeded to take the remainder of the images Ames' director had sent to Tempas an hour earlier. He trusted the director, but had not been able to believe his story until the images had printed from his fax machine, and he was staring at them clear as day.

Tempas picked up the phone. "This is Dinakar Tempas. Get me the President." He took another, long look at the photos, in particular at a large, menacing-looking craft. He could only describe it as a cross between a submarine and an aircraft carrier. He rolled his eyes in self-mockery; even in his head, it sounded stupid. Regardless, there was no telling what this discovery could mean, other than completely altering the course of humanity.

Clearing his throat, Tempas added, "And the Secretary of Defense."


	3. The Thirteenth Colony, Part I

_**Chapter replaced on 12 July. **Based on feedback received both here and on another site, I have rewritten this chapter and changed several aspects. One point of clarification: the time setting of the story is intentionally ambiguous. By "the near future," I don't necessarily mean next week – it could be, but it could also be five, ten, twenty years from now. Not every detail is going to match up precisely with what is true right this moment. Anyhoo, a real update should be here in a day or two. I've been incredibly busy with work (and I hate not writing any Bill/Laura scenes, which won't come until the chapter after next), but it's okay because this job is worth it! Thanks for reading!_

**CHAPTER TWO****  
The Thirteenth Colony, Part One**

* * *

**Reconnaissance Raptor  
Geosynchronous orbit about Earth**

"_Galactica_, Starbuck. Jump complete. Will descend into geosynchronous transfer orbit on your mark."

Captain Kara "Starbuck" Thrace, playing the role of electronic countermeasures officer on this exceptionally vital mission, took her finger off the _Transmit_ button and looked over the Raptor's pilot, Lieutenant Sharon Agathon. "And now we play the waiting game."

Behind the Raptor's canopy, Sharon's husband, Major Karl "Helo" Agathon, and _Galactica_'s chief communications officer, Lt. Felix Gaeta, were running the instruments through their final diagnostics check before putting them online to collect data from the planet below. "How long until we can expect _Galactica_'s response?" Helo inquired while marking items off on a checklist.

"Ten to twelve minutes," Sharon answered. "The planets are almost as far from each other right now as Earth is from the central star."

"It really is beautiful," Kara commented, gazing out the window at the sphere of blue and green below. Wispy clouds covered about a quarter of what they could see, and the outlines of landforms such as deserts, ice caps, and mountains were taking shape. How often she had feared she'd never set eyes upon it again.

"Spectrometer online," Gaeta announced from behind them. "Commencing analysis of upper atmosphere."

"Altimeter online," said Helo. "Beginning final diagnostic run of heat sensors."

As the men performed the obligatory rattling off of their systems as they reached ready status, the women waited patiently for their radio signal to reach _Galactica _and visualized the approach they'd be taking down towards Earth. Their ultimate goal was to touch down on the surface; Sharon had just skimmed the upper atmosphere on her first run a few days earlier. A safe descent shouldn't take more than an hour with them running their scans at the same time, but if they encountered any debris, as Sharon had spotted on her previous mission, it could take them as long as three hours.

"All systems online and standing by," Helo informed them after about eight minutes had gone by since sending their message to _Galactica_.

Kara's attention for the last few minutes had been occupied by watching a cloud formation as it drifted from an inland sea toward a land mass that looked remarkably like a boot. "What's the gravitational acceleration?" she inquired.

"We'll need to confirm it on this run, but when I buzzed it before, I measured it at about ten meters per second squared," Sharon answered. Within the fleet, acceleration due to gravity was induced at just over eleven meters per second squared. A ten percent gravity decrease would be noticed, but shouldn't negatively impact their physiology in the long run. "Look at it this way: we'll all weigh less."

Kara snorted. "Good. I was worried about my ass getting fat once all this is over."

Sharon laughed. "I hear you. Could do with some long-term shore leave myself; check out some of those beaches..."

"Mmmm." Kara closed her eyes, smiled, and leaned her head back. "First thing I'm gonna do when we put the fleet down is lay on a beach, let the waves wash over me, and stay there until someone fishes me out."

"How's our sub-light fuel?" asked Sharon, remembering to get back on task. While it was almost over, they weren't there just yet, and this mission was an essential component on the path to a permanent home.

"We have enough for about three hours of sustained flight, but I'm guessing that'll be reduced by thirty to forty minutes depending on how much use the thrusters get while we descend to low orbit," Gaeta answered. "We may have to perform our jump back to the fleet from inside the atmosphere if we spend too much time down there."

The Cylon woman suppressed a groan. Atmospheric FTL jumps were among her least favorite operating procedures. The one fatal flaw in a Raptor's design, at least in Sharon's opinion, was that the engines needed to constantly provide thrust when in suborbital flight to stay aloft. Aside from burning fuel like nobody's business, this meant that when a jump was performed into a near-frictionless environment, like space, their craft would take a sudden lurch forward before they could decelerate to a comfortable velocity. Even a seasoned Raptor jock like her could have trouble holding on to their lunch in a maneuver like that. There was always the option of cutting the sub-light engines while going straight up and performing the jump just before gravity kicked in again and pulled them down, in that fraction of a second when they were essentially stationary, but a move like that contained a high risk of losing control. It was better to just suck it up.

Frakking conservation of momentum. The laws of physics were a harsh mistress.

Their wait had just passed eleven minutes when Bill Adama's voice came through the headset; heavily wrought with static, but distinct. "Starbuck, Actual. Will expect report when you touch down. Clear to proceed."

"All right, let's do this," said Kara. "You heard the Old Man."

Sharon grasped the controls. "Give me some thrust, Starbuck."

"You hittin' on me, Athena?" inquired Kara as she flipped the switch activating the aft thrusters.

"Oh, you know it, baby." The Raptor eased forward, and Sharon, keeping her eyes on the instrument panel, aligned it with the path Gaeta had calculated to take them to the next orbit level. "Okay, ease off. It's my first time."

"Helo," Kara whined as the decreased the power to the thrusters, "your wife's hitting on me."

"Is she, now?" Helo joked back with feigned disinterest.

"You bet I am," said Sharon. "What _would_ you do if I left you for Starbuck, Helo?"

Grinning, Helo answered, "I'd sell tickets."

Gaeta rolled his eyes. "Remind me to hose you three off when we get back to _Galactica_."

While it was Sharon who did most of the steering, all four of them were doing things other than teasing each other; they were keeping a careful watch on their respective control panels for any changes that might put them at risk. With this being their first descent, they wanted to go in manually. Serving under William Adama and indulging his convictions had done them well. Should an emergency arise, their best chances for getting through it safely lie in their intuition and experience, something no flight computer possessed.

The thrusters were primarily to keep them on course; gravity was doing the work as they entered geosynchronous transfer orbit. Their elliptical trajectory would carry them to low planetary orbit, about two thousand kilometers above Earth's surface. They expected the descent to low orbit to take just over two hours. From low orbit, they would drop another one thousand kilometers into the thermosphere, at which point the Raptor's engines would need to be set to full power to guide them down through Earth's atmosphere.

The geosynchronous transfer orbit was essentially a controlled free-fall. Time was not going to be spent twiddling their thumbs, though; this was their preliminary data collection period. With only two hours at their disposal, they needed to move quickly. While Sharon and Kara kept them on course, making constant corrections as necessary, Helo and Gaeta began scanning the planet below with the Raptor's sensitive reconnaissance instruments. More precise readings would have to be made as they drew closer, but the data from the first half hour of their descent should give them an idea of where to go for the second stage of their mission.

It had not been stated outright, but Adama certainly implied that their next move would be to bring in the president herself and approach Earth's leaders. For this to be successful, it was necessary to locate Earth's capital city. In the Colonies, most of the time, though not always, the capital was the largest city on a planet – and even if it wasn't, going there would at least garner enough attention to alert Earth's leader, wherever he or she was. Several techniques would be used to assess this on their approach, from population density measurements to photon emission spectroscopy. Their entire plan operated on the assumption that the Earth humans possessed technology comparable to theirs, which, fortunately, appeared to be a safe bet. Sharon had observed several satellites and even something that looked like a space station on her first run, and Gaeta had started getting signals the minute the EM sensors came online, so things looked quite promising.

The first hour of descent was without incident. They had accelerated up to five kilometers per second, and could have gone faster in their frictionless environment with little power to the thrusters, but the G-forces associated with sustained flight at that velocity risked causing blackout. At their midway point, Helo focused his attention on the short-range radar, which would pick up any satellites or debris large enough to inflict damage. Their eyes could not be counted upon for this task; by the time they spotted something, it would be too late.

Sharon and Kara became much more active in the second half of the geosynchronous transfer path, making nearly constant corrections to both stabilize their descent and evade one piece of space junk with plenty of room to safely dodge the next. Forty minutes outside of their scheduled arrival in low planetary orbit, Gaeta informed them that he'd determined a likely candidate for the largest metropolitan area, and he would point it out to them on their next pass.

A few hundred kilometers above the low planetary orbit level, a beep brought everyone's attention to the DRADIS console. "Large craft detected," said Gaeta. "I think this is Athena's space station."

"If it is, we don't want them getting scared and shooting us down," Kara mused. "Think we're small enough for them not to see us?"

"As far as I can tell, we could jump the whole fleet in right now and they wouldn't see us," Gaeta returned. "I'm not reading a signal of any kind from it. It's dead in the water."

Sharon's brow wrinkled in confusion. "It was reading all over the place for me. Could it be an error?"

"Possible," Gaeta admitted. "We don't have time for another diagnostics test, though."

"Then I say let's pray to the gods and just go for it," said Kara. "It's not like we'd be able to keep ourselves a secret forever."

Little did she or anyone else aboard the Raptor know that their desire for secrecy was already a thing of the past.

* * *

_**Olympus**_** international space station  
Low Earth orbit**

This was astronaut Katalin Li's third trip to the space in two years, one less than the mission commander, Diego Swan, but more than the other four astronauts who had accompanied them to the _Olympus_ station, the planet's latest and greatest endeavor in space exploration . She was sitting shotgun next to Swan and would go back with him and a few others in five days, but the next trip was her turn for an extended stay – a honeymoon without her husband, essentially, since she'd gotten engaged the day before this shuttle launch, and they wanted to get married before she blasted off again. Their boys on the space station were _supposed_ to catch a ride home with the Russians in three weeks, but a change of plans occurred when an experimental computer broke. The problem really could have waited until the next mission to be solved, since losing this computer posed no immediate threat to the safety of those on board, but no one in the NASA administration was comfortable with the idea of using bits of whatever they could find and fasten together with duct tape in the place of a futuristic, multi-million dollar processor to hold them over. Anyway, waiting for the Russians was cheaper, and Kate learned within the first few weeks of her eight years with NASA that one always went with the decision that wasted the most taxpayer money possible.

_I hope you're worth it_, Kate thought, taking a good long look at the processor before inserting it into the intricate web of fiber-optic cables before her. The technology they were dealing with was really quite fascinating, but having played a role in its development, she sometimes found it difficult to feel an emotion other than frustration. The processor was the heart of a genuine quantum computer, something several companies had been reaching toward for over two decades, but always fell short. Eight years ago, NASA, in conjunction with the Air Force – where Kate and many of her colleagues hailed from – finally built a prototype quantum computer under the guidance of then-chief scientist Dinakar Tempas. The processor was the only one of its kind known to exist; possessing all the power of Blue Gene/L, the fastest supercomputer in the world, in a device that fit in the palm of a hand as small as hers.

The downfall of the situation was that their prototype could only operate in zero gravity; hence, the space station, and why she was one of thirty computer engineers who suddenly had to be trained as astronauts. While it proved invaluable to their research, the fact remained that it still stood outside the mainstream market. They _had_ the tools to make life easier, faster, more powerful than ever before. What they lacked was a way to turn them into something useful, and only once that was discovered would its existence be revealed to more than a handful of astronauts and high-ranking government officials.

"Still can't believe you guys managed to crash a _quantum computer_," Kate commented to her partner, cosmonaut Yuri Chekhov. "At the same time, though, I'm impressed. I didn't think it was possible."

"Vell, is as dey say, make it idiot-proof, dey vill make better idiot," Chekhov returned with a grin. "Saying goes double for spacemen."

Kate chuckled. "You can say that again. Can you angle the light a bit more up, please?"

One of the catches of repairing the quantum computer was that for safety reasons, virtually every system on the space station needed to be shut down. Auxiliary power kept them aloft and pressurized, but all the lights, computers, network devices, everything, had been turned off. Even their air filtration had been taken offline, which meant they had to work quickly. Their work was not exceptionally difficult or time-consuming, but the slightest slip-up with any power flowing through one of those wires would not only fry the hand that held it, but give quite a show for the people down on Earth when their space station came tumbling down in a giant fireball.

With Chekhov's flashlight guiding her way, Kate reached into the web of wires and detached the old processor: a mangled piece of metal, plastic, and circuitry with what she suspected was a titanium stabilizing rod impaled through the center. She sighed and shook her head. This was _not_ supposed to happen. At least they knew what the problem was: the computer hadn't crashed, it had been impaled. There was no time to figure out what caused the act of violence committed upon the processor, though; already she was beginning to feel the lack of fresh oxygen. Analysis could wait until the lights were back on. She handed the broken machine to Chekhov and picked up the replacement. Four snaps of optical fibers later, they were back in business.

_Space station heart surgery, _Kate thought. She picked up her battery-powered radio and depressed the_ Talk_ button. "Diego, it's Kate. We're good to go. Turn the lights on, and tell Holloman and Keck that if they'd stop downloading all that porn, we wouldn't have to come up here just to fix the damn computer."

A soft laugh came through the speaker, followed by, "Copy that, Katie. Main power going online in three... two... one..."

A low hum resonated through the _Olympus_, accompanied by dim floor and ceiling lights that slowly grew brighter. Monitors flickered back to life, and control panels displayed system status. All in all, the station seemed to be recovering from her shutdown according to plan. As far as days spent in space went, this one could not have been more ordinary.

_Beep_.

Kate's heart gave a leap, and she rotated her weightless body in the direction of the sound. The surveillance equipment had just resumed activity, which was expected, but what they were showing on the monitor above the quantum computer's holding panels was not. Something had just come into the field of their medium-range sensors, something that was not there when they shut everything down.

_Beep_.

Chekhov had noticed the detection as well, and appeared concerned. "Vhat is dat?"

"Diego, radar just picked up a bogey, heading our way out of geo-trans orbit," Kate said into her radio. "This wasn't here ten minutes ago. It must have just come into range."

On the other end of the space station, Diego Swan was feeling deeply disturbed by the words from his second-in-command. If something was coming _from_ Earth, that would almost make sense – he knew North Korea had been testing a new high-altitude aircraft, and they weren't the only ones – but something _toward_ them? "The Koreans?" he ventured, trying to make sense of the situation.

"Didn't read like their signature," came Kate's reply. A sigh came as she continued to speculate on the situation. "Based on its velocity, I'd almost think it was a meteor, but it's _definitely _electronic, and it's following a course. We should get on the squawk box with Houston, and maybe Dinakar Tempas. Maybe a probe got lost, or – what in the _hell_?!"

There were three phrases a mission commander dreaded hearing above all when aboard a space station, and Katalin Li's last four words made up one of them.


	4. The Thirteenth Colony, Part II

**Note**: Thanks to feedback I received both here and another forum, I rewrote the previous chapter and changed a few key details. Please have another look at it if you haven't yet done so. :)

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE****  
The Thirteenth Colony, Part Two**

_**Olympus**_** international space station  
Low Earth orbit**

Diego Swan was desperately fighting to not let his imagination get the better of him. He often thought nothing short of nuclear holocaust could get that sort of reaction out of Katalin Li. "What? What is it?" A beat, and then, "Talk to me, Katie."

"I've got an image," Kate replied. "Radar-generated, so it's iffy, but it gives us the approximate size and shape. Look, I know you guys don't think I'm a 'real' astronaut, but-"

"You're a computer engineer, which means you're more qualified to analyze something that machine does than anyone else on this bucket," Swan interrupted. "We all know that. I want to see that image."

"Aye, sir. I'll send it over to you as soon as I get a go."

Floating over to the nearest computer screen, Swan checked to see if the station's network was online yet. The indicator light was green, which meant at least the voice system had been effectively rebooted. If the quantum computer was working, as it should, that meant the data line was probably operational as well. "I'm logging on to the network," Diego said into his hand-held radio. "Send it over once it shows me."

"It should already be there."

Sure enough, once he had entered his password, an image flashed up on the screen. "Looking at it now, Kate."

To anyone else, it wouldn't look much different from any other grainy, radar-generated image, but Swan was a seasoned astronaut who knew how to interpret an image. The nearest earthly image he could compare it to was a helicopter, and with that thought in mind, he tried to piece things together. It was possible that it was two or more separate satellites, superimposed upon each other in the path of the radar scan. That was the most logical explanation, which was why Swan didn't like it. It wasn't impossible to the eye, but the instrumentation knew better: more than one craft would have registered an altitude difference, and there was no mistaking the trajectory. It was a transitory path, not an orbital one. It was either a chance reading of epic proportions, or they were dealing with something more.

"I'm coming over there; I want a look at that equipment," Swan said. "I'll have Holloman contact Dr. Tempas."

"Yuri wants to know if we should tell the Russians," came Kate's response.

It was a legitimate request; the station was, after all, a joint venture with six different countries. While no other countries had human representation aboard, and there were only four Russians compared to nine Americans, they were still involved. Whether it was a machine glitch or something else, they were all in it together. Diego Swan, however, was in charge, and his word was final. "Not _yet_," he said, stressing the "yet" to emphasize that he _did_ respect the Russians' right to stay informed. "I want to talk to Dinakar and see if we can make some sense of this, and keep it contained for now. If it leaks, we could end up creating a lot of unnecessary panic."

There was going to be enough unnecessary panic aboard the _Olympus_; the last thing they needed was some conspiracy theorists or alien fanatics to hear that the space station had detected something that read like an electronic device coming toward them. Dinakar Tempas was sure to take one look at their surveillance conditions and tell them it was just one hell of a coincidence. Yet, at the same time, Swan couldn't shake the feeling that by the time all this had played out, he was going to _wish_ it was some top-secret Korean project.

* * *

**Reconnaissance Raptor  
Somewhere over the Pacific**

Despite all the evidence she'd presented to the contrary during the last twenty minutes of their descent through Earth's atmosphere, Kara Thrace's vocabulary _did_ consist of more than the word "frak." She knew they were never in any real danger, but the ride down was not a comfortable one by any means. Turbulence threatened to tear them apart, shaking their tiny craft like a leaf in the wind. Kara knew some of this was to be expected – they'd detected high and low pressure systems converging in this area before they even began their approach – but she never suspected it would be like this.

"Feelin' all right, there, Starbuck?" Helo shouted above the noise of their descent.

"Yeah, if you don't count my stomach!" she called back.

"We're almost out of the rough patch," Sharon assured, keeping a tight grip on the controls.

Kara scowled. Sharon had said that ten minutes ago, but she tried to let it go. There was really nothing they _could_ do other than hold on, and pray to the gods.

She was more inclined to believe Sharon this time, anyway, since they were now close enough to the ocean that they could no longer see the vast continent on the horizon. They held their northwest bearing, going toward the crescent-shaped island a few hundred kilometers east of the aforementioned continent, the one Gaeta had pointed out to them on the last pass of the whole planet before they descended to the point where they were no longer in anything that resembled an orbit. It seemed like a strange place to have a capital. There were few landmasses in this particular region of the planet, and the ones they did see were sparse and primitive, if they were inhabited at all. Perhaps the entire island was the capital. Gaeta had said that it was densely populated. The ocean surrounding it was essentially just a big moat. On a planet with over six billion people, it was probably prudent for the capital city to be in a location that provided it with some form of natural defense.

"Large island chain coming up," Gaeta informed them. "Athena, recommend we drop to ten thousand meters and reduce speed. We should be over the city in about twelve minutes."

"By your command," Sharon replied though gritted teeth. It had been too long since she took a Raptor down through an atmosphere, and it required everything she had to keep it under control.

The craft pitched downward, and to the relief of all aboard, the turbulence dropped as their altitude and velocity did. They were also low enough now to make out details on the small islands below them. Amongst the mountains and forests, there were roads and buildings, ports, factories, structure and order. There was snow on the tops of the mountains, and the snow level gradually grew lower as they flew further north. They'd observed before that Earth rotated on a slightly tilted axis, which meant seasonal effects would occur, intensifying the closer one was to the poles. From the look of things, this hemisphere appeared to be in the early stages of winter.

"There it is!" Kara suddenly cried. "The main island!"

"Stay with me, Starbuck, I need you on those stability thrusters," Sharon reminded her, but she couldn't blame her for being excited. The sight of civilization was a comfort to all of them, but to her, it also induced feelings of regret. Sharon knew she'd never fully forgive herself for the part she played in the destruction of humanity. All she could do now was everything in her power to help her family and the life she wanted to give them.

Natural formations quickly gave way to an intricate, massive network of roads and skyscrapers as they flew further over the main island. A large, snow-covered mountain rose in the distance, higher than any other natural formation they'd seen on yet, but man-made structure dominated the scene below beyond that exception. The numbers Gaeta derived had to be a gross underestimate; now that they were looking upon it with their own eyes, none of the souls aboard the Raptor would be surprised if the number of people living below them doubled that of Caprica City.

"We going to land somewhere?" Helo asked.

"Yes, but not here," his wife returned. "Landing in the middle of that city says 'bad idea' to me right now." It _was_ a recon mission, after all. They needed to be discreet.

"So say we all," Gaeta concurred. "There's another island north of here that's significantly less populated. We could put down there."

"Okay. Let's get this info back to the Old Man first."

"On it," said Kara. Pressing the _Transmit_ button on her control panel, she delivered the information she knew was desired. "_Galactica_, Starbuck. Possible capital city identified. Sending coordinates."

Sharon increased the pitch angle and let the Raptor climb about three kilometers to a more appropriate cruising altitude. The idea was to maximize their range while minimizing fuel consumption. With their initial descent requiring more fuel than anticipated because of all they had to do to compensate for the turbulence, they were down to an hour of flight time left at their current rate. An atmospheric jump back to the fleet, it would have to be. Setting foot on Earth was a higher priority than preserving their stomach contents.

* * *

**NASA Headquarters  
Washington, DC**

_Ring..._

_Ring..._

Dinakar Tempas woke with a start to the sound of his cell phone. As he reached for it, he silently cursed himself for falling asleep in his office again. His therapist would be disappointed, but at least it wasn't the six months he went without setting foot in his home after Jessenia's death. He'd finally started to feel as though he could put those ghosts to rest. The events of the last day, however, had once again affirmed that somewhere in his subconscious, he was still using work as a crutch after all this time.

He cast a bittersweet smile at a framed photo on his desk before answering his phone: a laughing man with glasses and a head full of curly red hair, the Dinakar Tempas of happier days, embracing a beautiful, dark-complexioned woman who had no idea what was killing her from the inside. That was the problem with true love. It made you blind to everything else, especially your own mortality.

"Yes?" he said into the receiver. There was no need to bother with introductions. The handful of people who had this number needed none.

"Did I wake you?"

"It's three AM, Rudy. What do you think?"

"Sorry; after a while it just becomes a preprogrammed response. Anyway, I've got Diego Swan on the long-range. Says he wants to talk to you."

Dinakar's eyes drifted to a different photograph on his desk, one that had only been there about thirty-six hours. If he hadn't seen the spaceship before now, he would have figured sleep deprivation was causing him to hallucinate. "Did he say why?"

"Some sort of technical glitch," Rudy answered. "Weren't they putting in the new qubit processor for the quantum computer right about now? Could be a problem there."

"Probably," Tempas returned, but Rudy's hypothesis didn't make do much to put the NASA director's mind at ease. Other than its need to operate in zero gravity, the quantum computer was perfect. It was the brain of the space station, controlling and monitoring every function aboard while only being pushed to a fraction of its true power. He expected that within his lifetime, there would be a quantum computer in every home. Yes, it broke down, but from the initial report, it sounded like one of the components had been broken by something on the space station, and it wasn't a flaw in the machine itself. It would take technology far beyond that which was present on the _Olympus_ to cause hiccups. Furthermore, Diego Swan was experienced enough an astronaut to not request to speak directly to him without a very good reason. "Patch him through to my video line."

"Are you in your _office_?"

"Yes, I am, and before you can ask why, it's not your business. Please connect me to the _Olympus_."

Tempas spent the approximately five minutes it would take to set up the connection between headquarters, the Johnson Space Center, and the _Olympus_ station by getting his thoughts together and reorganizing the ominous pictures snapped by the _Palenque _probe._You're overreacting, _he told himself._ Getting paranoid in your old age_. His forty-eighth birthday had been last week. While he wasn't the youngest director in NASA's history, he was among them; however, in the two years it had been since he took office, he felt like he'd aged twenty. He'd expected a lot, expected to see things he never would have thought could happen, but not this. Not this.

A panel on the wall behind him slid open, revealing a grainy image on a flat-panel monitor. Diego Swan's dark eyes were filled with concern as he gazed at the NASA administrator through the distance between them. "Dr. Tempas?"

"Yes, Commander Swan," said Tempas. "Tell me what's going on."

Swan cocked his head to the side, and curiously commented, "Sir, are you in your _office_?"

"The _glitch_, please, Commander," Tempas said, failing in his attempt to hide the annoyance in his voice. He couldn't blame either Rudy or Swan for their concern upon noticing his location, but every time he pulled an impromptu graveyard shift, everyone around him assumed his only motivation was because he didn't want to return to the home he once shared with his wife. It was impossible in this world for someone in his position to suffer a loss and then just be left alone.

"Yes, sir. The qubit processor is operational, but when we put everything back online, there appeared to be a false reading from the mid-range radar. Katalin Li reported the detection right after the reboot. It came into range sometime in the ten minutes that the system was down."

"What kind of reading?"

"Electronic, descending out of geo-trans orbit. Not large, but big enough to detect; probably around the size of the lunar lander. We think it could be multiple satellites superimposed on each other in the image, but..."

"But not at that orbit level," Tempas finished, understanding where Swan was going with this. He could feel his stomach sinking, but he knew how to keep his cool. "Send me the initial conditions. I'll see if I can draw any conclusion from my end."

"All ready to go, sir. Holloman, transmit."

His computer screen flickered to life a moment later, displaying the data from the space station. He was quite familiar with the equipment – the quantum computer was his brainchild, which, it occurred to him, probably had more to do with Swan's reasoning for speaking to him than the fact that he was the NASA admin. "Thank you, Commander," said Tempas. "Give me a moment to look this over."

As he turned toward his computer, the photos once again came into his line of sight. They gave him the chills. Could there be a connection?

He focused his attention on Swan's data. He could understand the commander's concern now: there was nothing in the coding that suggested a misreading, or that might give clues as to why something that showed up on the radar would vanish without a trace. _Nothing besides aliens, that is_.

"Sir, what are we dealing with?" came Swan's voice.

Tempas had to tell Swan something, but perhaps the truth wasn't in their mutual best interest at this time. "Don't worry about it," he said. "I'll need to cross-reference your readout with the known satellites within range, but it really doesn't look like anything more than one hell of a coincidence. The processor takes a few minutes to process its algorithms before it can display any meaningful information, which is probably why the sensors couldn't indicate distinct flight levels. This shouldn't happen again unless your boys decide to make a habit of crashing the quantum computer."

Swan gave a small smile that didn't hold as much relief as Tempas hoped it would. "Thanks, sir. For a moment there, I was afraid we were dealing with a real threat."

"Not today, Commander Swan. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to be getting home before someone starts to think something _is_ wrong."

"Aye, sir. Terminating transmission."

As the screen faded to black, Tempas sighed and began to collect his things. At least _one_ thing he said to Diego Swan should be true, and he definitely didn't need anyone questioning his sanity. Before he went home, though, there was one thing that had to be done.

Tempas sat down at his computer and began typing out a message.

_Defense Secretary Tegler,__  
Let it be known that I just lied to one of our most trusted men because of your recommended course of action regarding the Palenque images. You already know the sentiments shared by myself and the vice-president, so I will not reiterate them, but I will make it known that this administration will not be subject to the consequences of your secrecy and inaction. If I believe there is a threat to those aboard the Olympus, they and their respective governments will be made aware of what they are up against. This cannot remain a secret forever, and I will not risk lives for what little time may be left.  
D. Tempas_

* * *

**Mr. Sikora's secret fishing spot  
Hokkaido, Japan**

Sharon Agathon let out a long sigh of relief as she set the Raptor on the beach. Their primary fuel had nearly been exhausted on approach, and she would have been very cranky indeed if there had been a need to switch to the emergency stores. "Call the Old Man and let him know we have touchdown," she instructed as she began to undo her safety restraints. "Felix, what's it like out there?"

"Humidity level fifteen percent," Gaeta read from the sensors. "Temperature two hundred ninety degrees absolute. Wind from the northeast at twelve clicks an hour. Atmosphere composed of twenty-one percent oxygen. There should have another three hours of daylight based on the planet's rotational period."

Sharon nodded in acknowledgment. It was a typical temperate coastal zone, with the numbers consistent with the early winter season they suspected from their flyover of the larger island. As for the scene itself, one could not ask for a more beautiful sight. The small, rocky beach was highly secluded, forming a roughly triangular shape with the ocean, the edges of an evergreen forest, and the lee of a large rock formation. The once-blue sky above them was overcast and gray from a veil of clouds. A narrow path was visible through the trees, suggesting that this area was visited, but not frequently.

"_Galactica_, Starbuck," Kara radioed. "Landed safely on Earth. Commencing with surface venture."

She removed her helmet, tucked it under her arm, and began to move toward the door. Helo and Sharon had already done the same and were on either side of Gaeta, helping their one-legged companion, toting a case, to a standing position. Kara initiated the raising of the door, and all four of them gasped as they inhaled a near-forgotten scent: the crisp brine of salt water intermingled with cool, fresh pine. She stepped out first, followed by the Agathons and Gaeta. Gentle waves rolled in and out before them, and overhead, a flock of white sea birds announced themselves with a series of caws. The air was crisp and cold, and nipped at their exposed skin, but they welcomed the sensation. Anything they felt would have been welcome, because it was here on Earth.

"So beautiful..." Gaeta said, and gazed around in wonder as the others murmured their agreement.

Kara took another deep breath and long look, indulging all her senses in the feel of the scene, then released the air in a short burst. "Okay, guys, let's do this. Felix, got those test tubes?"

Gaeta replied in the affirmative and opened the case, handing several test tubes to each of the other three. Sharon and Helo stayed to the shore, collecting samples from the rocks, dirt, and plants on the beach, and Kara went to the water. She shed her flight suit, and in only her fatigues, leaped into the waves. She emerged gasping – the water was ice cold, like a thousand tiny knives trying to penetrate her all at once – but laughing at the same time. "Frak, that's cold!"

"Good job, Starbuck," said Gaeta. "You went a whole fifteen seconds longer before getting in the water than I thought you would."

"How else was I supposed to get a sediment sample from the bottom?" she asked innocently, shaking wet hair out of her face. "Be right back."

As Kara continued her frigid dip, Gaeta hobbled back to the Raptor to prepare for sorting the samples. Sharon and Helo kept to their work, rotating off and on with who would collect an item and who would take it to their craft. Kara's teeth were chattering madly when she finished her work in the ocean about three minutes after getting in, but her trademark glare prevented any of her companions from remarking anything along the lines of "I told you so."

All in all, the team spent the greater part of half an hour gathering and sorting anything they could find that could be made to fit in a test tube. Kara had re-donned her flight suit, and tossed her wet fatigues in a corner. Despite the rough descent and physical and mental demands the expedition placed on them, their spirits were high, and all four were laughing and joking as they prepped the Raptor for takeoff. This place was so much more than somewhere to call home. It cradled the human race in its arms. It was somewhere they could raise their children where they could see the sky. It was the future, for all of them.

"So what do you think, Athena?" Kara asked as the Raptor's primary systems powered on. "You guys staying in, or you think you'll settle?"

"I don't know," Sharon admitted. "I'd _like_ to settle, but maybe not right away. With Helo's promotion and the new treaty in place, things are really working well for us in the service. It may depend on what _kind_ of Colonial military or government exists once all this plays out."

"How about you, Felix?" said Kara.

Gaeta shrugged. "Who knows? Could be anything from doing exactly what I am right now to singing in nightclubs." After a round of laughter, he added, "And you, Starbuck?"

"Always figured I'd be a Viper jock," she replied, "but with all the sleep I'm _not_ getting lately, the most appealing thing sounds like opening a coffee shop."

"Hmmm... Starbuck's Coffee," said Helo. "It's got a nice ring to it."

"We're online," Sharon announced. "Let's get back to the fleet before Starbuck dies from hypothermia."

Kara's slightly blue lips broke into a grin, and even as she shivered, there was joy in her voice. "_Galactica_, Starbuck. Commencing with departure. See you soon." Releasing the _Transmit_ button, she said, "Let's see if we can get back to the fleet before the radio signal does."

* * *

Just beyond the tree line, an elderly Japanese man named Sikora Michinobu watched, dumbstruck, as a machine that looked like it came straight out of the science fiction movie his grandson was watching yesterday came into sight. There was glass in the front, and he could see two women inside, working at what appeared to be an instrument panel. Its jet-like thrusters pushed it straight up to an altitude of about fifty meters, and then the whole thing vanished in a flash of light.

Sikora's fishing pole hit the ground, and he raced back to town faster than he ever knew he could.


	5. Ulterior Motives

**CHAPTER FOUR****  
Ulterior Motives**

_**Fate's Embrace **_**civilian vessel  
In orbit around Jupiter**

Tom Zarek was a patient man. He learned long ago that if he remained calm, rational, and calculating, he could maneuver his way through any situation. Patience was how he endured twenty years of prison. Patience was how he became famous and powerful while sitting in a jail cell. Patience was how he became vice-president of the Twelve Colonies – what remained of them, anyway. And patience was how he was going to secure the most coveted prize of all: Earth.

Patience, and knowing which cards to play at which time. Now was one of those times where he needed to lay down a hand.

Zarek looked at his watch. Ten minutes until he needed to catch his shuttle over to _Colonial One_, where the Quorum was going to once again engage in the constant squabble they liked to refer to as "discussion" regarding their next move with Earth. Laura Roslin had briefed him shortly after the crew returned from their reconnaissance mission the previous day. She didn't have much solid information, since the data analysts still needed to break down and assess the findings so they'd be ready to present to the Quorum, but she said the team was very optimistic. If fate willed, they could start bringing the fleet into Earth as early as a week from now. If fate willed, that would be all the time he needed.

"Channel open," an automated voice informed, causing Zarek to look up from his watch. "Commence transmission."

Now came the part where he had to pray that this worked. "_Render and Requiem, _this is the _Fate's Embrace_," he spoke into an old, rusty microphone. "_Requiem_, do you copy?"

Nothing but silence. Zarek resisted the urge to swear, remembering the virtue of patience, and tried again. "_Fate's Embrace _to _Render and Requiem._ Respond. Over."

He waited, silently counting to twelve in his head, before trying a third time. "_Fate's Embrace_, calling the _Render and Requiem_. _Requiem_, respond."

Three was the charm: a voice was coming through, but it was so faint he could barely distinguish it from the static. "... _race... _ _Req_... arely... sting transmish... ver."

Zarek couldn't afford to divert any of his ship's power sources to communication, so he hoped it would be enough if the _Requiem_ did it on her end. He expected the combination of distance and scrambling to make this conversation difficult, but not to this degree. "_Fate's Embrace_ to the _Render and Requiem._ Recommend you take noncritical systems offline to strengthen signal. Will terminate transmission in fifteen seconds if you cannot respond."

A few moments later, the voice was back. It was smooth and feminine, and bore a slight satirical undertone. The signal was still weak, but could at least be understood. "This isn't as easy as it looks on paper, _Embrace_."

"I know, _Requiem_, but we don't have a lot of time. What's the status of your mission?"

"We've reached the planet, but someone cleaned house before they took off. The facility is completely abandoned: no computers, no written records, not even any bodies. We could certainly use the information on _Galactica_ to further the search, since we don't even know what we're looking for."

"I can't trust Adama," said Zarek. "Not until I have something to use as leverage." The last thing he needed was to give William Adama any reason to flush him out of an airlock.

"Understood," the voice on the other end acknowledged. "We'll keep our eyes and ears open. What about your end? Have you reached Earth?"

"The coordinates Kara Thrace gave are accurate. The fleet is orbiting the fifth planet in the solar system. Adama arranged for a reconnaissance mission yesterday, and their findings are going to be discussed at a Quorum meeting shortly. We may be moving in toward Earth within the week, which is why it's important for you to hurry."

"Speaking of the Quorum, has Laura Roslin outlived her usefulness yet?"

"Not quite. She's held up her end of the bargain surprisingly well. I think she likes keeping me close."

"You're only on that woman's side when it's beneficial to you. Why are you singing a different tune, Zarek? Crossed over to their side?"

"I don't _take_ 'sides,' D'Anna, and plans change," he returned. His allegiance stood where it always had: beside what was right. If there was one thing Tom Zarek was very good at, it was finding a black and white in the gray. "We may still need her."

"'We'?" the other repeated. "Or _you_?"

He chose to evade the question, partly for the reasons he was about to give, and partly so he could ponder his true motives once he had a chance. "There are still too many variables to consider. This needs to be handled delicately, and we need another card to play before we can make Adama budge. I'll see that you're informed of anything that pertains to you. If you'll excuse me now, I have a shuttle to catch."

The woman conceded and signed off. Zarek echoed the protocol, switched off the transmitter, and set off at a brisk pace toward the _Embrace_'s landing bay. The conversation with his collaborator left him ill at ease. He had reservations about her mission from the first day it was brought to his attention. They had a lot to gain if she was right, but just as much to lose if any false steps were taken. He'd finally agreed to it because it meant she would be out of the way during the final movements of orchestrating the fleet's arrival on Earth. It was a gamble, and he knew he'd lost some ground with the fleet's other two prominent leaders in the process, but at least he was regaining it with Laura Roslin. She was almost right where he wanted her.

He gave his shuttle's pilot and ECO a polite but brief greeting as he boarded the small craft. A folder had been left for him on his seat; Zarek picked it up and began leafing through its contents once he was strapped in, but his mind wasn't on the charts and data tables. D'Anna had a point; several, in fact. He and Roslin had been dancing in and out of step with each other since this war started, and circumstances finally forced her to truly consider his voice instead of merely keeping him as vice-president to legitimize her leadership. They'd found themselves needing each other – politically, of course – more than either expected or desired in the last few weeks. They'd both learned from this, too: Roslin that his ideas were closer to hers than it seemed, and Zarek that there _was_ good in people after all.

Working so intimately with Laura Roslin had its consequences, though. The unlikely student-mentor relationship he'd taken up with Lee Adama only made matters worse. Lee was a very intelligent man, and was the first to notice Zarek was openly agreeing with Roslin more than he ever had before. Zarek dismissed it as merely he and Roslin finally starting to see eye-to-eye, which was true – to a point. He didn't trust Lee enough yet to let him in on what he was up to with D'Anna, though he could certainly use his help. For now, it was better to let Lee think what he wanted... and Zarek had a sneaking suspicion as to what that could be.

It wasn't hard; after all, they were only human, and it was natural that Lee would want to safeguard his father's happiness. Zarek knew how Bill Adama and Laura Roslin felt about each other. Everyone did. It was the worst-kept secret in the fleet. Lee, like they all were, was likely getting tired of the admiral and president's self-delusion regarding their desires because "they had duties." At this point, their blatant attraction was interfering more with their duties than any acknowledged relationship would. Was there another reason why they hadn't gotten around to logging some quality rack time already? The most obvious candidate for a romantic rivalry was the charismatic vice-president, who suddenly and largely inexplicably became the loudest voice of support for their leading lady. Did Lee think Zarek was finally viewing Roslin not as the president, but as a woman? If something was coming between them besides their own heads, it could be a certain man...

_I am NOT that man_, Zarek thought.

"Sorry?" said the ECO.

It took Zarek a moment to realize that he'd actually vocalized his sentiments instead of just keeping them in his head. "Nothing," the vice-president said dismissively. "Just rehearsing a speech. I never really got the hang of making something up as I go along, and I don't want to make a fool of myself in front of the Quorum."

The pilot chuckled. "So say we all, sir."

* * *

_**Colonial One**_**  
One hour later**

"... which brings us to our final order of business: the _Galactica_'s findings on Earth." Laura Roslin glanced at each of the twelve anxious faces at the table before her, then turned to the woman on her left. "Olivia, could you bring in Admiral Adama and Major Agathon?"

"Right away, Madam President."

Roslin watched Olivia as she rose and ducked into the next room, a small smile of approval on her face. As far as aides went, she was more than satisfactory. She didn't have the charming innocence that Billy Keikeya did, or Tory Foster's talent for efficiency, but she was enthusiastic, did good work, and she wasn't a Cylon. Olivia returned a moment later with Bill Adama and Karl Agathon in tow, the latter clutching an armful of folders. The admiral was as composed as ever, but the younger military man seemed to have trouble concealing his excitement. He rocked back and forth on his heels, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Olivia resumed her seat next to the president, while Adama and Agathon stood at the other end of the table, drawing the eyes of the Quorum. No civilian, not even the president, knew what was going to unfold, and they waited with baited breath for Adama to speak.

Adama was not one to stand on ceremony, so he jumped right into the report. "Madam President, members of the Quorum," he began, "I am pleased to report that _Galactica_'s Earth recon mission was a great success. The planet is teeming with life, and supports a human civilization that reports indicate is very near to our own in terms of advancement. Major Agathon."

Agathon started walking around the table, handing a folder to each Quorum delegate. "Complete details can be found in here," he informed them. "All the information we have regarding climate, population distribution, weather, and more is included, as well as several photographs. Nothing is very extensive, I'm afraid, but the primary purpose of this mission was to find a suitable place to make contact with the Earth humans. We believe we've found it."

"You've identified their capital?" inquired Garth Pollard, the delegate from Canceron.

"We've identified the largest city," Agathon clarified. "It _may_ be their capital, it may not be. We can't be sure. We _can_, however, logically conclude that if we wanted to get the attention of the world leaders, a densely-populated area would be the place to do it. Our objective is to make contact at that city within the next seventy-two hours."

"The next step," Adama continued, "is to decide _how_ we want to make contact."

"I don't suppose this is as simple as jumping the fleet into orbit and then drop in, telling them we intend to set up house," speculated Jacob Cantrell of Sagittaron.

"No, it isn't," said Lee Adama of Caprica, "and we'll need to present ourselves in such a way that it's clear that we _will_ be settling on Earth, but not make it look like it's an invasion."

"Lee's right," Zarek agreed. "If there's opposition to our presence, it could lead to conflict."

"We could always blow up their capital if they don't want us there, right, Zarek?" sneered Nathan Muldoon of Virgon.

Not surprisingly, Muldoon's comment got a reaction. Tom Zarek sighed and began rubbing his temple as the room erupted in accusations being thrown back and forth. To his slight surprise, it was Adama who put a silence to the Quorum with a resounding "Enough!" before continuing. "What we do if they don't accept us on Earth isn't the first thing we're facing."

"We don't want to alarm them, which is what I fear may happen if we bring a larger representation than absolutely necessary," said Roslin. "I suggest one ship and a minimal delegation."

"Do you have a delegation in mind, Madam President?" asked Adama.

"As a matter of fact, I do," she answered. "I was thinking you, Mr. Zarek, Mr. Adama, and myself."

"Me?" Zarek and Lee said in unison.

"It makes sense," chimed in Aquaria's Terry Uddin, who had seen the logic in the president's selection. "The president, the vice-president, the leader of the military, and a representative of the Quorum who is known and trusted by the other involved parties."

"In that case, why don't we send the entire Quorum?" asked Nadia Ware of Scorpia. "That way each colony is represented in the first contact with Earth."

"And if something happens to them, the entire fleet is without a governing body," Lee realistically indicated.

"I want to add a detachment of Marines to that list," said Adama.

"If there's such a risk, why send the president _and_ the vice-president?" asked Leta Savage, the delegate from Leonis. "Shouldn't one stay with the fleet in case something happens to the other?"

Zarek and Roslin exchanged a sideways glance. The corners of his mouth twitched upward in amusement as he answered for both of them. "Frankly, Leta, as you saw just a moment ago, my old reputation still taints the thoughts of many people in the fleet. It might cause some unrest among the voters if _the_ Tom Zarek were left to his devices while the admiral and president were away, or was Earth society's lone first taste of the Colonial civilian government."

As the Quorum continued to discuss possible options, Roslin tilted her torso to the right and whispered into Zarek's ear, "Good answer."

"Don't worry, Laura," he whispered in return. "I've got your back."

They leaned away from each other, and he smiled at her. Roslin smiled back, but it was largely feigned. She couldn't yet discern the times Tom Zarek was genuine from those when he harbored ulterior motives. She wondered if she ever would.

"Then it's settled," said Adama. "Both the president and vice-president will go to Earth, along with myself. Mr. Adama, do you have any objections to being part of this delegation?"

"No objections, Admiral," was Lee's unsurprising answer.

"I think we should also extend an invitation to Lieutenant Agathon," Adama continued. "Besides the fact that she knows how to get to where we're going, it's a sign of good faith toward the Cylons. If we allow her to come, it shows that we're not shutting them out."

The Quorum muttered a general consensus, some of it reluctantly, and Adama turned to Agathon for confirmation that he would pass the word on to Sharon. Picon's Kristen Ross was the next to get the discussion back on course, no longer skating around the big question that was on all their minds. "How are we going to communicate with them?"

Adama and Roslin locked gazes from across the table, and each had a feeling the other was thinking the same thing that was in their own respective thoughts. There _was_ no way to communicate with the Earth humans other than to simply dive in and start feeling around in the dark. Given that their cities and apparent technology had evolved in a way comparable to that of the Colonies, it was entirely likely that their spoken language was similar as well, if not to a current language in use on the planet, then to an archaic one. They didn't have time for an alternative.

"We are going to communicate," Roslin began, "by praying that our intentions will be interpreted as diplomatic by the people we encounter. Mr. Zarek and I will prepare a statement, and work with Admiral Adama for a military perspective on how to present ourselves without appearing hostile."

"Is there any telling how long it will be before the people can settle on Earth?" asked Cantrell.

Again, silence befell the leaders, and again, it was Roslin who broke it. "The only answer I can give is when the gods will it," she said. "We will be exploring every option, but in the meantime, all the people can do is be patient and pray that we can be understood. Assure them that this _is_ the end, and we _will_ be settling on Earth, but we need time to make the transition go as smoothly and peacefully as possible."

She gazed into each set of eyes in the room as she made her promise. Not all of them looked as though they expressed complete faith in the decided course of action, but there could be no mistaking that they all had hope. They had seen Earth with their own eyes, proving that it was real and finally within reach. Furthermore, no longer was this solely about finding an arbitrary place to live, a place where the Cylons would not be a threat. It was about reuniting all of humanity. After so many centuries, the Thirteen Colonies would be together again.

"If there are no more questions," the president continued, "and we have reached a consensus, I declare this meeting adjourned. Admiral Adama, Major Agathon, Mr. Zarek, and Mr. Adama, I ask that the five of us meet on _Galactica _in one hour for detailed planning.There's a lot of work that needs to be done in a short time if we expect to pull this off."

In the hustle and bustle accompanying the Quorum members as they gathered their things in preparation for departure, Adama crossed the room over to Roslin and discreetly pulled her aside. "I need to speak with you," he whispered, "alone."

There was no mistaking the flutter of her heart that came from having him so close, and it was certainly not alleviated any by the number of different possibilities his words could implicate. Knowing it was probably strictly business, as Adama was all about these days, helped her suppress any visible reaction. "All right." She turned to find her assistant. "Olivia, can you please bring those papers to the landing bay? I need a word with Admiral Adama."

As Olivia undertook the task delegated to her, Roslin and Adama stepped into the unoccupied next room over. Adama glanced around to make sure they were alone, then made his intentions known. "I don't think it would be wise to take _Colonial One_ to Earth," he advised. "If the fleet sees it leaving, they might think they're being abandoned."

That was hardly something to be discussed in private. Roslin wondered what the admiral was up to. "We never said we _were_ taking _Colonial One_ to Earth," she countered, although that was indeed her intention.

"You implied it," he said. "When you said one ship and just a handful of people, I took it to mean _this_ ship."

She couldn't help smiling at how well he knew her. "Did you have something in mind, Bill?"

"I did, actually, but you won't like it." After being met with only silence and that coy smile, Adama delivered the punch line. "The _Fate's Embrace_."

Her smile instantly vanished. "Absolutely not."

"I warned you."

"No, you said I wouldn't like it. You didn't say I'd _hate_ it." She gave an involuntary shudder. "I can't go on that ship. There's something about it that just... it gets in your _head_. People aren't the same. It's too unpredictable. Even Zarek says it has a mind of its own half the time."

There were other ships in the fleet that sent shivers down her spine, but none as much as the _Embrace_. Being on it felt like a combination of being on Zarek's old ship, the _Astral Queen_, a Cylon basestar, and a heavy dose of chamalla. The voices of the dead seemed to whisper in the shadows in every corner, and there was always a strange echo of footsteps, as though one was being followed, but there was never anyone there. She wasn't the only one who had these feelings evoked aboard the _Embrace_, but they appeared more strongly in her than any other. Zarek himself was reluctant to take the ship after the destruction of the _Astral Queen. _He'd warmed up to it over the last few weeks, saying they just needed a chance to get used to it, but that was one chance Laura Roslin did not wish to give.

"That's exactly why I don't want to leave it with the fleet _without_ Zarek."

He had a point there; a good one. Of course, Adama wouldn't place such faith in Zarek without compelling reasons. That still didn't mean she had to _like_ his plan, or agree to it. "It's too large," she said, finding a valid, rational counterargument. "We're going to draw enough attention as it is, bringing a strange vessel into a city without clearance. The _Embrace_ is the fourth-largest ship in the fleet."

"Third, actually," Adama weakly clarified, knowing he was losing this battle.

"Aha!" Roslin exclaimed, holding up a finger triumphantly. "Thank you for sharpening my point."

He stared at her, arched an eyebrow, and interrogatively repeated, "'Sharpening my point'?"

Her demeanor flip-flopped again, and she let escape a series of giggles, which soon escalated into full-blown laughter. When she regained her composure, she said, "I'm sorry... I don't know where that came from... I think we've been in space too long."

He grinned and gave her shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "I hope I can hear you laugh like that every day on Earth."

"I hope you can, too."

It was in that moment they realized what an intimate turn their conversation had taken, and they were quick to put some distance between themselves.

"A smaller ship can dock with the _Embrace_, and that can be the one we'll take to the planet," Adama said, getting back to the point at hand. "The _Rising Star_, the _Estes_, the _Blue Caravan_ – we don't have to decide now, but there are at least ten that would suit our needs. Furthermore, the _Embrace_ can do something most other ships can't: launch a Viper."

Once again, his thoughts had taken a turn Roslin didn't like. "Bill-"

"Hear me out, Laura," he interrupted. He knew it would take some persuasion to get her to side with him on this, so he'd come with his arguments prepared. "You've asked for military input, and that's what I'm giving. An escort for a government vessel is entirely reasonable, and it will give you an added measure of security. If your ship back to Caprica hadn't had an escort during the attack on the colonies..."  
"I don't think we have to worry about Cylons anymore, and I thought we had the Marines to act as bodyguards." She understood his concern, but she worried about how Earth would perceive the presence of fighters. It would certainly appear hostile to her.

"I feel it's necessary to not overlook any option," said Adama. "We have no idea what we're getting in to, and it's the fleet's highest leaders leading the charge. We can't risk anything happening to y- to them."

"Very well," she sighed. "_Two_ Vipers. You pick the pilots. Is there anything else you have to talk me in to right now, while we're at it?"

"Just one. This is all your idea."

Up until that point, though Roslin didn't necessarily agree on principle with what he'd said, it at least made sense. Not this. "And why is it _my_ idea?"

"Zarek," Adama said simply.

And there it was. His ulterior motives for getting her alone had been revealed. "You really don't trust him, do you?" Personal trust was another thing, but as far as political went, Tom Zarek had earned hers.

"I trust him as far as I can throw him, and the feeling is mutual," the admiral replied. "Frankly, I don't think he trusts you, either, but he _does_ respect you. Your voice will carry a lot more weight with him than mine. If it comes from you, I think he'll go along with it."

Roslin nodded. "Very well, Bill; you're probably right, as usual. I'll go along with it..." She paused to smile at him, then continued, "but you owe me."

He returned the smile and offered his arm as they walked out. "I still owe you for Ragnar. What do you intend to do with all the interest that's built up since then?"

"How are you at cabin-building?"


	6. High Alert

**CHAPTER FIVE****  
High Alert**

**The White House  
Washington, DC**

United States vice-president Julian McNair was not having a good day.

It began at 4 AM. He was an early riser, usually up and about by five thirty, but not under such circumstances. The rude awakening came courtesy of a late autumn storm outside and a three-year-old who was afraid of thunder. After half an hour, he couldn't get Emily to stop, so he reluctantly woke up his wife. Keanna was already in a bad mood from an argument they'd had the night before, and pregnant on top of that, so her raging hormones were significantly altering how she responded to stress. When Emily still wouldn't stop crying, everything became Julian's fault, at least as far as Keanna was concerned.

"She doesn't even know who you are anymore!" the Second Lady had exclaimed, bordering on hysteria. "You're gone when she wakes up, you don't come home until after she's gone to sleep-"

"I'm the vice-president, Keanna," was his tired excuse. "We _knew_ this wasn't going to be easy."

"You _promised_ me, Julian!" she'd fired back. "When you asked me to marry you, you _swore_ that no matter how hard things got, you wouldn't neglect your family!"

"I know, and I'm sorry, but I never imagined I'd get this far, and you know I couldn't have done it without you."

She'd glared at him through her angry tears and held the child close to her, as if protecting Emily from her husband. "Good to know we've satisfied your political agenda, _Mr. Vice-President_."

That was the point where he'd given up on arguing with her, hastily thrown on a suit, and told his head of security that he was going to work. In the backseat of a luxury sedan, he dwelt on the argument all during the thirty-minute commute to the White House. He should have just kept his mouth shut and let Keanna's tirade run its course. The last comment he made was what really set her off, and though he'd meant it as a compliment, in hindsight he saw how she would have taken it as a blow.

Two years ago, when Nevada senator Vincent Powers won the Democratic presidential bid and was looking for a running mate, Washington's ex-governor Julian McNair was the only name on a short list of candidates that was sure to win over both the public and the party. The name had first been dropped by the newly-instated NASA administrator, Dinakar Tempas. He'd grown up with McNair and was in good standing with Powers, whom he adamantly supported thanks to the senator's endeavors to procure funding for Tempas' quantum computer. The more Powers learned about McNair, the more determined he was to have him on the ticket. They were very like-minded, and McNair's good-guy image easily made him popular with the voters. The biggest hurdle at that point in the race was getting the party to agree to the candidate, and the Democrats were sure to accept a man with no federal experience for one reason and one reason alone: the fact that his wife was the widow of Dr. Robert Wynn, one of the party's biggest financial backers of the decade. McNair befriended the Wynns five years before the doctor's death, when Robert helped finance Julian's gubernatorial campaign. His suicide shattered his pregnant wife's world, one she never could have reconstructed without the help of her friend, the governor, who consoled her, supported her, treated her daughter as his own, and eventually, fell in love with her. McNair's treatment of Keanna, still a very staunch and vocal Democrat as Robert had been, captivated the hearts and admiration of the party. Her connections effectively bought her husband the vice-presidential nomination, and by extension, the election. Political power was never Julian's intent when he married her, but he should have known that it could not be avoided, or that his motives would one day be questioned.

On top of that, the White House was in a frenzy over the pictures NASA's _Palenque_ probe snapped of something that looked like a spaceship fleet in orbit around Jupiter. Tempas gravely assured them the pictures were not a hoax, and the Powers administration was divided over the course of action that should be taken. Do they alert the rest of the world? Do they cover it up? Do they do nothing and pray that these – he could barely bring himself to believe it – _aliens_ want nothing to do with Earth and then just continue on their way? Was this a sign that the human race was about to see its last days?

Right now, the order was that they keep things quiet. Three days ago, after Dinakar first sent Powers the pictures, the president called a meeting with the NASA administrator and the National Security Council in the White House situation room. He instructed that until further notice, no one outside these walls was to have any knowledge of the images... not their departments, not their deputies, not even the rest of the president's high-ranking staff members. Though confidentiality was nothing new or strange to them, most of the people on the Security Council didn't operate under _absolute_ secrecy. The vice-president, in particular, was pained by the fact that he was working longer and harder than ever before and couldn't give his neglected wife so much as a hint why.

McNair glanced at his reflection in the tinted, bulletproof glass that made up the window of the sedan, and turned away in disgust. He couldn't even look at himself. He was helpless as a vice-president and a failure as a husband.

At five twenty-two, McNair walked into the West Wing. "Good morning, Mr. Vice-President," the on-duty security officer said in greeting. Matching pace with the vice-president as he walked in the direction of his office, the man commented, "You're here early. Everything all right?"

Nothing was all right. McNair didn't want to give away that he was going to pieces, but neither did he want to tell an outright lie. Refraining from mentioning was something else, though, and he figured he could get away with pawning off current state solely on his marital woes, which were hardly a secret around the White House. "Storm woke up my little girl," he said, and after racking his brain for the officer's name, added, "Mark." The vice-president was rarely in the complex when the current shift of officers was on duty, and had only seen Mark four or five times since Powers took office. "Kea and I couldn't get her to stop crying, and things just escalated from there. I hate not being there for them, but..."

"I'm sorry, sir," Mark sympathized. "I know I can't say 'I know how you feel' since I'm not the vice-president, obviously, but I _am_ a father."

McNair halted outside the break room, gave the guard a small smile, and placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. "Then you know how I feel."

He excused himself, and Mark continued on his round with a bit of bounce in his stride that was absent before his talk with the president's understudy. Inside the break room, McNair made himself a cup of coffee and then sank into a recliner, pondering the day he had to face. Most of it would probably be spent in a mahogany-paneled room with the National Security Council, arguing over the latest report from NASA. Tempas hadn't presented anything to the group yet, but an official statement had been made to both Powers and the Secretary of Defense, and he confided in his friend McNair the same thing: there'd been another sighting two days ago, this time by the radar on the _Olympus_ station. Although they couldn't know for sure if there was a connection, odds were it wasn't anything else. He'd lied to the astronauts and dismissed the readings as a technical glitch, but he was sure they didn't believe him. Tempas feared the implications and what it could mean for the days ahead, and McNair was right there with him.

Just then, he heard a ringing in the distance, so faint it would have been undetectable if the West Wing hadn't been all but deserted in this early hour. McNair strained to hear it, and as he listened, thought it was coming from the Oval Office. _Who would be calling Vince at this hour? _he wondered.

Why not begin the workday by finding out.

Coffee cup still in hand, the vice-president exited the break room and set off at a brisk pace in the direction of the ringing. He stopped at a corner and slid aside a panel to reveal a keypad. He entered his seven-character key code, then leaned forward and removed his glasses for a retina scan. The ringing was indeed coming from inside the Oval Office. Once the retina scan finished, he glanced at the small screen above the keypad. _Access Granted – Julian McNair_ flashed up in green letters, and a lock disengaged. McNair slid the panel shut and then pressed on the entire wall, and a door-sized section swung open, allowing him to step right into the legendary presidential workspace.

Being inside the Oval Office wasn't a novelty to Julian. All the high-ranking members of the president's staff had access to it. He was in here almost every day – albeit usually with Powers in there too – and had even served as acting president twice already in nineteen months it had been since their administration took office. The only thing that made him feel awkward about the situation was the fact that he was about to pick up the president's phone and see what the person on the other end wanted, as if he was a desk receptionist.

McNair shrugged it off and picked up the receiver. Anything this caller had to say to the president, they could say to him. That was the agreement he and Powers had, and their administration worked very well with the two of them holding each other in such close confidence.

"This is Vice-President Julian McNair." As he waited for a response, he checked the origin of the call. It was being made from the US embassy in Astana, Kazakhstan. Unusual, though not unheard of, for an embassy to speak directly to a head of state.

"Vice-President McNair!" The voice was deep, resonant, and carried a thick, Russian-sounding accent. "It is good to hear your voice. I apologize for the inconvenient hour, but this could not wait. This is Nikolai Kovolsky."

McNair knew the voice was familiar and placed it after listening to the caller continue, but was baffled as to _why_ he'd made the call in the first place. Nikolai Kovolsky was the secretary-general of the United Nations. Why would he be trying to reach Powers directly? This was highly irregular. "Dr. Kovolsky," McNair said, hoping he didn't sound as surprised as he felt. At least that explained the time; if his math was correct, it would be mid-afternoon, around three thirty, in Kazakhstan. Kovolsky's official residence was in New York City, but there were plenty of reasons for him to be in his home country. "To what do I owe the honor?"

"I know this is not the way things are normally handled, but protocol is a luxury I cannot afford now," Kovolsky said. "I had to go to your embassy to make this call, since I did not come to Kazakhstan thinking I would need to deal with a UN emergency of this magnitude. It was the only quickly-accessible place that had a secure connection to the White House."

That explained the source of the call. "What happened?"

"Much of my morning was spent talking with Hayashibara Katsu, in Japan. He says he has received reports of a strange aircraft sighted over his country, and since your country is the strongest military presence in the area, it was speculated that it may be an American construct."

"Why didn't Hayashibara contact us?" McNair asked. He knew the name – Hayashibara was Japan's prime minister. "Why did the UN get involved?"

"Because the UN _is _involved," Kovolsky replied. "Before I even found out about this confirmed aircraft sighting, I had to dispatch peacekeeping forces to not only Japan, to the Philippines as well. Rioting had gotten out of control, with all groups claiming we were being invaded by aliens and the government was not doing anything to protect them."

"Aliens?" McNair repeated, and his voice cracked in the process. He faked a chuckle to disguise it. "There's no such thing as aliens."

"I know, Mr. McNair, and that is why I thought of your country's military once Hayashibara told me an unidentified aircraft had been detected by four airports in the greater Tokyo area two days ago. Their readings were consistent with each other. Furthermore, after making some calls, I found it also matched data retrieved by air traffic controllers in Manila."

"Were there any photos?" McNair asked.

"No; it was all radio. The Japanese detected a smaller vessel at ten thousand meters, and two hours earlier, over Manila, a very similar-sized craft at altitude ranging from twenty-five thousand meters. It was almost out of their range, but still visible on radar."

McNair opened the top drawer of the president's desk and retrieved a pen and pad of paper. He hastily scribbled down the information Kovolsky was giving, intending it to run it by Dinakar Tempas and his information from the _Olympus_. The timeline was right for a possible connection.

"There is more," Kovolsky continued. "The prime minister said word had reached him of an actual sighting in Hokkaido. Somehow, word got out about this, mixed in with the reports from the other countries... We do not know exactly how it spread, but we think a conspiracy theorist website based in Tokyo is the likely culprit."

That would make sense, especially if the thing buzzed Tokyo. "What happened in Hokkaido?"

"A man named Sikora claimed to have seen four people, two men and two women, on a small, rocky beach on the southern part of the island, where he apparently goes to fish a few times a week. Mr. Sikora claimed they went inside a craft that was roughly the size and shape of a boxy helicopter, except there were no blades. It rose straight up using jet thrusters, to about forty or fifty meters, and then... I should warn you, this is very strange. A bright light appeared at one end of the craft, ran down its length, and then there was a flash and it disappeared."

That was more than "very strange." That was something straight out of science fiction. "I... I don't know what to say about that," said the American politician. "Is it possible things were, well, exaggerated, or lost in translation?"

"It is more than possible; it is likely," was the reply from the Kazakh diplomat, "but Hayashibara played a recording of Sikora's statement for me, and according to his family, he is a very honest man, and it is not in his character to let his imagination get the better of him."

"Doctor, I can all but assure you the United States had nothing to do with this." At least that much was true. "I know it's a hot spot, but no military craft would be in range of civilian radar without a _very_ good reason, and we certainly have nothing that would be capable of the actions in Mr. Sikora's statement."

Kovolsky thought McNair was showing an awful lot of interest in the events for claiming to have no idea of what could be going on, but he did not remark on it. "There is one more thing," he said. "Hayashibara has... put me in a difficult position. He adamantly believes that the Americans are behind this, and he is taking it and making it about opposition to your country's military presence in Japan, specifically on Okinawa."

If half of what McNair heard about Hayashibara Katsu and his foreign policy was true, this was hardly a surprising move. "Let me guess: you need us to step in and make a statement to help smooth things over."

"You are quick to catch on, Mr. McNair," said Kovolsky, amusement resonating in his voice. "It may be the only thing we can do in this situation. The UN would appreciate your help."

McNair could use some help of his own. Any statement regarding military operations would have to come from the Secretary of Defense, Sebastian Tegler, whose personality was eerily similar to that of Japan's Hayashibara. Furthermore, the two men were exactly the same age, and despite the fact that they lived in different countries, had nothing similar in their ethnic backgrounds, had never met, and didn't looked the least bit alike, McNair had not quite written off the idea that they could be twins separated at birth.

"Any time, Dr. Kovolsky." As he spoke, an aching sensation arose somewhere in his gut. He knew the feeling: it was his conscience. He wondered if keeping the secretary-general in the dark about everything NASA unearthed was right. With the events in Asia likely connected, they could no longer keep things under wraps, and Kovolsky was involved now. He had a right to know. "Doctor..."

"Yes?"

"When will you be returning to New York?"

"I _was_ going to fly back this evening, but I think a visit to Tokyo would be wiser," the secretary-general answered. "Why do you ask?"

"When you do, see if you can make room in the near future to come to Washington."

A pause, and then, "Is there something you are not telling me, Julian?"

"There are a _lot_ of things I'm not telling you right now, Nikolai, one, because it's not the matter at hand, and two, because I can't give you more information until we have some. Again, let me reiterate that the United States is not behind this, but... this is a long shot, but we may be on to something."

The silence was disconcerting; finally, Kovolsky spoke again. "Thank you. I will be in Washington as soon as I can. In the meantime, do not let leak whatever information you may have. I do not want to see in your country what I am about to face in Japan."

He could not agree more. "Godspeed, Doctor."

McNair hung up, then, with a heavy sigh, sank into the president's office chair and buried his brow in his hands. The sun hadn't even risen yet, and already he was wondering how the day could get any worse.

The vice-president allowed himself a few minutes to wallow in self-pity, then pushed aside his despair to make room for determination. He walked at a brisk pace in the direction of the president's bedroom, ready to give the commander-in-chief an awakening he would not soon forget.

* * *

Within two hours, the National Security Council was assembled in the White House Situation Room. There were ten of them present. Eight were the usual suspects: the president, Vincent Powers; the vice-president, Julian McNair; the Secretaries of State, Viola Rayleigh; Defense, Sebastian Tegler; and the Treasury, Tom Freeman; the National Security Advisor, Whitney Lopez; the Director of National Intelligence, Tarek Ansari; and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Orin Manec. The other two were Adlai Stanton, the White House Chief of Staff, and Dinakar Tempas, the NASA administrator. It took McNair about half an hour to fully recount the conversation he had with Nikolai Kovolsky that morning, mostly because he was constantly being interrupted. Things only got worse when Tempas took the stage and informed the group of what only Powers and Tegler were fully aware of regarding the _Olympus_. Both speakers understood why they would have so many questions, but it seemed like every one they answered produced two more that they could not. They were in the room nearly ninety minutes before all their information could be placed on the table.

When Tempas was finished, the others directed their attention to Powers. Remarking on the situation before their president had a chance would feel inappropriate to the Council. To their relief, he didn't take long, and jumped straight to the sole thought on the minds of all present. "Well... this is a problem."

"Yes, it is," concurred McNair. That was putting it very lightly, but it was also direct. "What do we do now?"

"I don't see why 'we' have to do anything," said Freeman. "These events didn't have anything to do with us."

"What 'we' have to do, Tom," interjected Rayleigh, "is be diplomatic. We assure Japan that we had nothing to do what was seen, and for the sake of appearances, have a formal inquiry. It sounds like Kovolsky believes Julian, and he just wants us to say something to get Hayashibara off our collective asses." She cast a wary look at Sebastian Tegler and Orin Manec, who were sitting next to each other and directly across the table from her. "There _aren't_ any classified operations taking place in civilian airspace in that region, are there?"

"No," the two men chorused, and Tegler added, "We've launched several _unmanned_ vessels in the last few weeks for nuclear surveillance photos in North Korea, but none of them dipped below ninety thousand feet, and they're specifically designed to _not_ show up on radar."

"A civilian airport wouldn't know one of our UAVs was there if it buzzed their control tower," Manec commented. Something told the other members of the Security Council that he wasn't exaggerating.

Several minutes of circular debate followed, ending with an interjection from Tempas. "Point of clarification: we _are_ involved with this, beyond Hayashibara and his 'squeaky wheel gets the grease' propaganda. We're accountable for the information we have from the _Palenque_ and the _Olympus_."

"There's no reason to volunteer this information until we can make sense of it," argued Stanton. "We can't be sure it's connected."

"No, but it would sure be a hell of a coincidence if it isn't," chimed in McNair.

"Julian's right," said Rayleigh. "I think we should treat the situation as if all three events were connected: the images from _Palenque_, the radar reading from _Olympus_, and the sighting in Japan."

Again, a discussion arose, this time going on for a good ten minutes before the president, who'd spent the entire meeting in quiet contemplation aside from his understatement after the NASA administrator's spiel, silenced the room with voicing his stance. "I agree with Viola. We need to treat these events like they are connected. I think I can safely say the consequences for that case would be far greater than any other. Orin, Sebastian, I need to know if our military detected the same bogey that Tokyo and Manila did. What's our best bet?"

Manec and Tegler exchanged a glance, an unspoken gesture that developed from their mutual respect. The Joint Chiefs chair was an airman who served in the Pacific for much of his long and distinguished career, and had a personal perspective on their military power in the region that not only bested that of everyone else in the room, but most of the minds in Washington. Manec wouldn't say anything if he thought Secretary of Defense wanted to offer his two cents on the matter first, and Tegler wasn't going to let a little thing like the chain of command slow down the response of the man he knew was the better authority on the subject. Tegler nodded and leaned back slightly in his chair, yielding the floor to Manec, who was only too happy to lay out their options for the president.

"Kadena's the hub of our military power in the Pacific, but they're on Okinawa, a little out of the way to pick up something that flew over Manila and Tokyo," Manec began. "The Naval Air Facility at Atsugi is the next largest, and they're near Tokyo, but they don't usually have their eyes to the skies. There are a few more installations in and around Tokyo, but after Atsugi, I'd say the only other one likely to detect anything would be Yokota."

"All right," said Powers. "And what about Hokkaido?"

"Japan has an air base at Chitose, but we don't have any prominent facilities on the island," Manec said apologetically. "You can _see_ Hokkaido on a clear day from the high air traffic control tower at Misawa Air Base, but it's still on the main island, and we don't know _where_ on Hokkaido the sighting was."

Powers spent a minute or two thinking, and then, in whispers, exchanged words and handwritten notes with McNair and Stanton. When he was satisfied with weighing his thoughts against that of his vice-president and chief of staff, he addressed the group. "Thank you, Orin. Here is what I propose we do. Viola, you and Julian will take care of Prime Minister Hayashibara. Give our statement, including assurance that there will be an inquiry, and advise him to keep Chitose on alert. Whitney, Tarek, you're in charge of the inquiry. I'll expect a report in forty-eight hours. As far as our military goes, yes, it's true we haven't been involved, but that's about to change. We have the means to keep the region secure, and if our people need to rise to the occasion, they will. Sebastian, who and where is our ranking officer in the region?"  
"Major General Bagalayos, the commander at Kadena, is the closest to these events," the Secretary of Defense answered. "Vice Admiral Burnett is the ranking officer in the Pacific, but his command is based at Pearl Harbor, too far away to handle things if a situation arose in the same area as the reports."

Tegler's voice held an unmistakable trace of disdain, which the perceptive president immediately picked up. "Something wrong, Sebastian?"

Manec took the question, being a player in the underlying issue himself. "General Bagalayos is... a point of contention," he explained, carefully choosing his words. "Secretary Tegler initially vetoed the general's appointment at Kadena last year, but it was overruled by the Joint Chiefs."

"Can Bagalayos be trusted?" Powers asked.

"Completely," said Tegler, with slight reluctance. "The veto was on the grounds of _character_ flaws, not professional. I prefer the admiral, honestly, but Orin and the Joint Chiefs raise a valid point: Bagalayos won't hesitate to make a tough call, and sometimes the 'ready, fire, aim' approach is what needs to be done when time is of the essence."

"Very well. Time _is _of the essence, so from this point on, General Bagalayos knows everything we know. I'm putting our forces on alert, and the one who will be making the calls needs to know why." He sighed and glanced at Tempas out of the corner of his eye. "Dinakar's right; we _are_ accountable, and that makes the sightings and riots our problem, too. Our military installations in Japan exist to protect the mutual interest of both countries, and I will emphasize that point when I speak to Dr. Kovolsky."

"You're mobilizing troops?" asked Ansari. "Sir, are we looking at _war_?"

"I certainly hope not, Tarek," said Powers, and added with a tired smile, "They didn't cover alien invasion in Presidency 101. That's a 200-level course."

The president permitted a round of soft laughter from his colleagues to lighten the mood, then continued, "I admit, I don't know exactly what to make of this situation. What happened in Japan is likely something closer to home, but the images from _Palenque_ are... a bit more unusual. Dinakar, I need you to monitor that _personally_. Are there any other satellites in the region?"

"Four, including _Palenque_." was the answer. "One is Northrop Grumman's, one is China's, and the fourth is also ours, but it's not staying there. It's due to pass Jupiter in a few days, on its way to Neptune. NASA-Ames operates _Palenque_, and there are a few people who know about the ships, but they're all sworn to secrecy."

"What are the odds that the the others have picked anything up?" asked Lopez.

"Slim to none, fortunately," said Tempas. The incredible statistics he was about to present to the others were the sole factor keeping him rational in this trying time. "China's probe doesn't have any optical equipment at all; they're operating completely in x-ray and looking at the planet itself. We haven't talked much with them, but we're pretty sure they're going to pull a _Galileo _and send their craft into the atmosphere. Northrop's _Archron_ mission is similar to _Palenque_'s – looking for water – and the two are comparably equipped, but _Archron_'s emphasis is in the infrared range, and it's much further from this fleet than _Palenque_."

"Better not call it a 'fleet,'" Tegler cautioned. "That has military connotations, and the last thing we need is for people to think there's an alien fleet gathering strength in our solar system with its eyes on Earth."

"Right, because 'alien spaceships' is a _much_ better way of putting it," sarcastically commented Stanton.

"Enough," Powers warned before things could escalate. "Dinakar, please continue."

"The spaceships," Tempas continued, "are holding their position near the Pasiphaë group, over between fifteen and twenty million kilometers from the inner and Galilean moons, where the _Archon_ probe is. _Palenque_ is further out, in the Ananke group, but at any given time, it's still several million kilometers away. _Palenque_ wouldn't have been able to resolve the images at all if its optical telescope wasn't one of the finest ever made."

"I don't understand," said Freeman. "How can a telescope take a picture of a nebula that's halfway across the galaxy, but have trouble with something just a few million kilometers away?"

Halfway across the galaxy was an exaggeration, but Tempas understood why the question arose, and he repressed a sigh. Tom Freeman was among the many who thought of NASA as a glorified science fair, and probably wouldn't be opposed to shutting it down entirely. "You've all probably seen one of the Hubble Space Telescope's most famous pictures: the Eagle Nebula, recognizable by its cloudy pillars." He waited for the universal nod of acknowledgment before continuing. "The Eagle Nebula is seven thousand light-years away. Now consider an object like the moon. It's only a quarter-million miles away. It takes light just over a second to reach the moon from Earth. However, Hubble is incapable of resolving the _Apollo 11_ landing site, even though on a celestial scale, they're right next to each other. Telescopes are made to look at things that are big and far away, not nearby and tiny. That's why _Palenque_ is so unique: it was designed specifically to look at natural satellites, sort of a 'space microscope,' if you will." His voice was gathering more and more enthusiasm as he spoke; it was clear he was proud of their spacecraft. "From its position in the Ananke group, it can't effectively resolve anything further away than Mars, but we get excellent, detailed views of Jupiter's moons. These spaceships are much smaller than moons; comparing them to, say, our moon would be like comparing a snow globe of the White House _to_ the White House."

"We _get_ it, Dinakar," said Lopez, who was about as effective at hiding her impatience as Tegler. She wasn't alone in being skeptical of Tempas at times. He still bore much of the wide-eyed innocence and thirst for knowledge that made him a great scientist, but hindered his ability to become an exceptional administrator. "What you're saying is we got lucky."

"Well... if you want to call having some idea of what we're facing instead of being completely blindsided by what happened in Japan 'lucky,' then yes, we got lucky,"answered Tempas.

"Truly, ignorance is bliss," said Powers. "Can you acquire use of Northrop Grumman's satellite?"

Tempas pondered it a moment, then said, "Probably, but they'll want a good reason, especially if they don't know what we're doing with it."

"Would funding _Archon _for the next three years buy their silence?"

"That would certainly convince _me_ if I were Phil Cunningham," Tempas said, referring to Northrop's CEO, "but you'd be looking at a quarter of a billion, easily."

"Write it off as a hammer and toilet seat," the president replied. "Isn't that the standard procedure?"

Again, there was a chuckle in light of the severity. Powers let it die down, then rose to his feet. "Don't worry about something looking strange on a receipt; direct orders from the president tend to hold up in an audit. Just make sure we know what those... _spaceships_ are doing, and let me know immediately if something changes."

He looked around the room at his colleagues and friends, and there was no mistaking it: they were worried. By extension, so was he. These were delicate times, and he had seen what could happen when someone in a sensitive position could not maintain their composure. Fear did things, changed people, made them act in ways they never would. Whatever it took, they needed to remain grounded.

"I know this won't be easy," said the president. "I know it's hard to accept what we've seen. However, the time to write certain things off as urban legend has passed. We have to choose our next moves carefully. Remember your duties, but also remember yourselves and your loved ones. Keep your grip on your humanity."

In the wake of Powers' speech, McNair looked around apprehensively, with the president's last sentence resonating in his thoughts. _Keep your grip on your humanity_. Some people in the room, particularly Sebastian Tegler, could use some handles for their humanity. Others, like Ansari and Freeman, were questionable, but they weren't going to be directly involved with whatever came of these events. If this was going to be their end, it was just as likely to come from the mysterious strangers in the sky as it was from man destroying himself in his own fear and fury.


	7. Down to Earth

**CHAPTER SIX****  
Down to Earth**

_**Fate's Embrace **_**civilian vessel  
The dark side of the moon**

"My name is Laura Roslin. I am the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol. We've come to Earth seeking... no, no, no..."

Laura Roslin sighed, steadied herself, and looked into her own eyes in the mirror. "My name is Laura Roslin, President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol. We have been seeking Earth for... frak."

She sighed again, this time with significantly more exasperation, then began again. "My name is Laura Roslin, and I am the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol. Four years ago, our worlds were destroyed, and... no..."

She stopped, swore, and began again. "My name is Laura Roslin, President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol. Our legends speak of a thirteenth tribe, living on a distant planet called Earth, and when our homes were destroyed, we... we took off in search of a place where we can park our asses already with our president who can't think of anything to say in one of humanity's most important moments!"

She slammed her right fist against the counter. "Frak!"

It came down so hard, she ended up splitting the skin on her knuckles, and repeated the expletive even more forcefully. Scowling, she brought her hand up to her mouth and covered the wound with her lips until the stinging subsided. She pulled it away; it was bleeding, but not bad. It would clot and stop long before they got down to Earth.

The head of Lee Adama appeared in the doorway. "Madam President, are you all right?"

She was startled at first by the interruption, but relaxed when she saw who it was. "Captain Apollo," she said with a grin, hearkening back to her old nickname for him. "Yes, I'm fine; just at a loss for words."

"Sounds to me like you had some choice words just now," the young man teased, returning the smile. He held out his arm in offering. "The_ Mariner _is almost ready to depart. I figured you would want to minimize the amount of time you spent on this ship."

The president cleared her throat, straightened her posture, and smoothed out a fold on her dress. "Yes, thank you," she said, accepting his arm as they started to walk. She was on edge even without the unnerving sensations the ship gave.

"You look nice," Lee said encouragingly.

He hoped the compliment would calm her down, but he didn't make it solely for that reason. She _did_ look good. Her hair was down, but pulled off her face with hairpins for a neat, polished look. Her clothing had been a gift from Tory Foster, shortly after Zarek turned the presidency over following the exodus from New Caprica. Tory thought she might like to have something of a more traditional, ceremonial design to wear when meeting Earth's leaders, so she crafted this ensemble: a floor-length black dress, sleeveless, with an A-line cut and a combination sash and train in bright red fabric – the very same bright red fabric that Roslin wore at Baltar's inauguration ceremony on New Caprica that she remembered Bill Adama saying looked good on her. She was trying to look good, but as the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, not as Laura Roslin. However, she wouldn't mind if she happened to elicit a double-take from a certain admiral in the process.

Roslin smiled warmly at her companion, grateful for his words and fully aware of his intentions behind the comment. "Thank you."

They reached the hangar deck in little time, their pace quickened by their desire to get off the _Embrace_. The luxury liner _Celestial Mariner_ took up most of the large room, and the tail end of a Raptor was visible just behind it. The _Mariner_ was designed to hold a hundred and fifty people comfortably, but after the attack on the Colonies, had been modified so it could accommodate up to four hundred. The three hundred seventy-one souls they had to displace for this mission were aboard _Galactica_, and had received fair compensation for the inconvenience. About fifteen people were hovering around the _Mariner_, getting it, and themselves, ready for departure. Tom Zarek, and Roslin's aid, Olivia, were the only ones not wearing a military uniform until Lee and Laura joined the group. Zarek had been talking with Sharon Agathon, and excused himself from that conversation to relay its topic back to the president and the Caprican Quorum delegate.

"Lieutenant Agathon agreed to stay here with the _Fate's Embrace_," Zarek said. He looked how they all felt: a bit harried, but excited. "It responds well to her, so we shouldn't have any problems. Lieutenant Edmondson over there volunteered to take a gun since you don't have another Raptor-qualified pilot here."

Lee glanced over at a group of half a dozen Marines, who were sorting through a box of ammunition near the ramp leading up to the cargo hold of the _Mariner_. Among them was Lieutenant Margaret "Racetrack" Edmondson, who saw him and waved at her former CAG. He waved back, feeling a little uneasy about the situation, but not saying anything. Edmondson was a decent shot, but she'd been trained as a pilot, not a Marine.

"Where's my father?" Lee inquired, not seeing the elder Adama among those present.

Roslin was glad Lee asked the question so she didn't have to.

"He and... Starbuck, is that her name? They're prepping their Vipers. I thought they'd be back by now."

"'_Their_ Vipers'?" Lee repeated.

Zarek didn't get a chance to respond; Kara Thrace and Bill Adama had arrived on the scene, each wearing a flight suit and holding a helmet. Adama looked serious and pensive, a stark contrast from Kara, who was grinning from ear to ear and carrying something that looked like a camera in her other hand. The identity of the object was confirmed when she flashed it in Lee's face, startling him so much that he stumbled backwards and became slightly disoriented.

"Come on, Lee, smile!" the hotshot young pilot exclaimed after she'd taken the picture. "This is one of the biggest days of our life!"

"Take it easy, Kara," Lee responded, but couldn't help smiling a little himself. Her mood was contagious.

Kara pulled Lee over to the group of Marines and insisted upon taking pictures with them. In the hustle and bustle, Roslin discreetly inched closer to Adama, and once she was within whispering range, commented, "I like the flight suit. It looks good on you."

A warm glow of pride surged inside Adama at the compliment. It had been a long time since he felt he needed to impress anyone with what he wore, and though that was certainly not his intention, it was a welcome consequence. And as far as _she_ went... he didn't think he'd ever seen her look so good. She'd always been a well-dressed, classy woman, but this took it to the next level. The fact that he'd been noticing her more and more lately, not as the president, but as Laura, only added to the effect. She would grab any of their attention – and did – but it was Adama who would have the hardest time looking away.

He gazed longingly at her, aching to tell her everything he felt inside, but even if that _was_ the smartest thing to do right now, he couldn't have formed thoughts into words. She dealt him a paralyzing blow with that enchanting smile, captivating him with her presence. Perhaps it was because of all they'd faced together, but no woman ever had the same effect on him, and he didn't think any other ever would.

Adama knew he had to break away from that smile, or he'd be standing there, dumbstruck and useless, for the rest of the day. He looked down, and promptly noticed the state of her right hand. "You're bleeding!"

Not exactly the reaction she wanted. "Oh, yes," she said absentmindedly. "I was a little frustrated a few minutes ago when I couldn't think of the right thing to say when we get down to Earth, and I took it out on the sink."

"I think I have something..." He set his helmet down and fumbled around with the pockets on his flight suit, finally locating and retrieving a handkerchief. He wet a corner with his tongue, then took her hand and began dabbing around the perimeter of the wound to clean up the blood. She chuckled softly, and he found himself grinning, too. They both knew this simple interaction had very little to do with her injury.

"Aww, look at you two," teased an upbeat female voice. Kara and her camera had returned, with Lee in tow. "Let's see some smiles. Admiral and president – come on, give us one for the ages!"

The two leaders affectionately embraced and cast genuine smiles at Kara, grateful for her antics in spite of the serious nature of the mission. Each one of them was uptight and nervous, and having someone running around smiling and laughing did a lot to bring relief. This was exactly what they needed.

"All right, that's enough," said Adama after a good ten or eleven flashes from the camera, noticing that the _Mariner_ looked ready to go. Her captain was by the loading bay doors, ushering in the last of the Marines. "Kara, we've got to get to the Vipers."

"So why _are_ you flying a Viper, Bill?" Roslin asked as she and the admiral released their hold on each other.

"Kara's the best pilot in the fleet, hands-down," Adama answered, "so that was an easy pick, but when it came to finding someone to fill the other spot, I knew how I wanted things done, and finally realized the only way I'd keep my sanity was to do it myself."

She would have liked the comfort of his company on the _Mariner_ in the estimated two hours it would take them to reach the city, but it was also reassuring to know he'd be actively watching out for them. "Mmm hmm. Well, be careful out there." She kissed him on the cheek, then quickly explained, "For luck."

He kissed her hand in return. "You, too."

Adama and the ship's captain exchanged a few words as the last of the passengers boarded the luxury liner, and then he and Kara left in the direction they arrived. Once aboard, the captain explained that they would be taking off once he got word from Adama that the Vipers were ready. Sharon Agathon waved to them from the hangar deck, then retreated back into the interior of the _Fate's Embrace_ so the _Celestial Mariner_ could launch. Five minutes to the outside, but an anxious eternity to those inside, passed before the announcement came: they were leaving.

Laura hadn't sat still since boarding, but she wasn't the only one with a visible nervous edge. All thirteen passengers – herself, Lee, Olivia, Zarek, Racetrack, and eight Marines – were together in the ship's forward observation lounge. It spanned the width of the ship, with glass walls on each side, and was about a third long as it was wide. Two large, U-shaped sections of couches faced the windows, and the middle of the room had a table running nearly the length of the room with sixteen chairs, eight on each side. Five of the Marines were sitting at the table, playing a card game, but none of them were really paying attention. Racetrack and the other three were sitting on the couch near the portside window, gazing at the blue-green planet in the distance that was growing larger, slowly but surely, as the _Mariner_ gained speed. Lee, Zarek, and Olivia were also at the table, at the end opposite from the Marines, with a pile of papers spread out between them. Lee was fidgeting with the papers, arranging them into piles and obsessively straightening them, and Olivia was caught up in reading something. Zarek seemed to bear no interest in them at all, choosing instead to watch the president as she walked back and forth, with the _Fate's Embrace_ growing smaller in the window behind her.

Zarek eventually abandoned the papers that failed to serve as an adequate distraction, and walked over to join the one who had captured his attention from the moment he saw her walk onto the hangar deck. "You want to sit down, Laura? I'm getting dizzy watching you." He neglected to clarify that the dizziness had nothing to do with her pacing.

Roslin smiled nervously at him and hugged herself tightly. "I don't think I could sit still, Tom. I haven't been able to since we left the fleet. I think I've given myself some gray hairs."

Zarek reached toward her, gently stroking the hairline above her left temple, looking for the alleged gray hairs. His fingers grazed against the side of her face as he tucked a stray hair behind her ear and slowly pulled his hand away. "I thought that was a wig."

Her smile became less forced. "It is."

He laughed and squeezed her shoulder. "Come on. Sit down."

They walked over to the couch, and once seated, Zarek guided Roslin to angle where she was facing away from him, and then began to massage her shoulders. "Tell me what you're going to say."

She didn't read too deeply into his touch; in the last few months, he'd managed to become something that resembled a friend, and the massage did feel good. His hands were rough and calloused, and very strong. It wasn't the sort of touch one would expect from someone who filled a more traditional perspective on what sort of man a vice-president should be, but then again, Tom Zarek was already so far removed from that mold that his working-class hands were not even close to being the largest factor that separated him from those who came before. Laura surrendered herself to his grip, disconnecting her thoughts from everything except the hands that bore harder and deeper into the tissue so tight it could barely be distinguished from bone.

"You have magic hands," she moaned softly.

"Well, thank you, but I'm not sure that's the first thing Earth should hear from the Colonial government."

Laura then remembered herself, and their mission. "I don't know, Tom," she sighed. "When I try to think of something, my mind just goes blank and everything comes out sounding so _stupid_..."

"Just relax. Don't think about anything but how good it is to finally be here. We're _done_, Laura. It's over. It's time to reap the rewards of our suffering. This is the end."

She wished it was that simple. There was no telling what they would encounter down on Earth. Would they know about the Twelve Tribes of Kobol, or would they have faded into legend and obscurity, as Earth did for them? Would they be able to communicate? What if they were hostile? How did the Colonists know they would be accepted? If this was the end, what – or whose – end would it be?

* * *

_**Olympus**_** international space station  
Low Earth orbit**

Katalin Li was ready to go home. Being on the space station was starting to give her the creeps. NASA was being even more cryptic than usual in the aftermath of the unusual reading she'd picked up four days earlier, and she didn't buy for one second the excuse Dinakar Tempas gave them. She knew Tempas personally from the time she spent developing the quantum computer; they weren't written into each others' wills or anything, but he'd be receiving an invitation to her wedding, and they had a friendly chat over the phone and met for dinner every once in a while. If nothing else, their relationship was established well enough for her to know that he'd never give an inconsequential, manufactured explanation, even in a situation that _called_ for one. She remained convinced that the alleged glitch hadn't been a glitch at all, but so far, the only ones siding with her on this were Diego Swan and Yuri Chekhov. She felt like a sitting duck, trapped helplessly aboard their tiny floating laboratory, with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide if something should come after them. Was it simple paranoia? Perhaps. Nevertheless, she couldn't wait to get her feet safely back on the ground.

_Just one more day, _she kept telling herself. _This time tomorrow, you'll be home_.

Fortunately, there was always something to do on the space station, and Kate found plenty to keep her mind off the possibility of impending doom. Currently, she was occupied with finishing up a program that would allow certain functions of the quantum computer to be accessed remotely, mostly for ground-based data storage. For all the research and development that had gone into making the fastest computer in existence, it didn't yet have a hard drive that could go along with it. Theoretically, when operating at full capacity, the quantum computer could churn out terabytes of information every hour. Though the industry made advances every day, it was expected that it would still be several years before a hard drive network existed that could both accommodate their computer's capabilities _and_ fit aboard a space station. By that time, they may have figured out how to operate the damned thing outside of zero gravity. No one knew for sure. Only time would tell.

Diego Swan was helping her, although it was really more of a one-person job. His resident computer-engineer-turned-astronaut had him doing the busywork task of making sure her codes had no errors; once she finished a section, she had him run it through Matlab, and if there was a conflict, he corrected it. It was almost painfully simple. Kate's programs had few errors to begin with, and Matlab indicated exactly where they were, if and when there were any at all. Still, he much preferred filling the role for which he was far overqualified than playing babysitter to the dynamic duo of Holloman and Keck, who were making every task aboard the _Olympus_ a competition. Swan thought if he had to hear Keck gloat one more time about how he was able to calculate their projected path by hand with less than three percent error, he'd throw the little nerd out the nearest hatch.

Not that Kate Li was really a much better companion, when it came right down to it. She was losing her edge, and it showed. She told him how she felt about the unusual radar reading the other day, and he agreed with her, but Swan didn't let it consume him. She was anxious, paranoid, jumping at every squeak and shadow. If she didn't get control of herself, she was a potential danger to all of them.

"So, I've got a question," Swan said after a time, trying to relax his companion by making conversation.

"Shoot," she said, only half paying attention.

"Are you _really_ going to marry Rex Wolfram?"

Kate laughed and tapped out a few more bits of code before answering. She knew Swan was trying to get her to relax, and bringing up a topic she was so excited about was one of the few things that could have worked. "Yes, I am. We'll send out invitations when I get back. Don't worry, you'll get one, and you can bring Jacqueline and the kids. We'll have plenty of room; I think the only one Rex plans on inviting so far is that Xanatos kid..."

"You set a date?" Swan smiled. Mission accomplished.

"We've set a timeline. Rex will have an exact date picked by the time we land. We want to get married before I come up here again; it'll probably be in that week, the more I think about it." She noticed the incredulous look he was giving her, then said, "_What_?"

"I'm just... trying to figure out how you two would even _meet_, or how it's possible that he didn't get his ass handed to him on a plate when he came into the US."

"He's a good man; you just have to give him a chance." She struck a sequence of keys on keyboard and closed out the open window on her screen. "He had to give _himself_ a chance... and meet a girl who more or less forced him to be the man she knew was in him somewhere."

"My guess is it was just _you _in and of yourself, Katie. You'd be surprised what a man will do for the favor of a pretty face. I was completely different before I met my wife, and I've never looked back. The right person will change your life forever."

"He already has. It finally hit me the other day that I'm really engaged to him, and all I could do was smile and think... what the hell?"

Her tone changed in the latter part of her statement, and while that was Swan's first reaction when he found out about Kate's engagement, he didn't think that was how _she_ felt. "What do you mean?"

A look of horror had worked its way across the woman's face as she stared at the screen in front of her, an expression that her commander shared as he noticed it, too. "We've got incoming!" she shouted. "It's huge... and it's coming right at us!"

* * *

**NASA Headquarters  
Washington, DC**

It was times like this when Dinakar Tempas hated his job. As per the president's orders, he diligently monitored the mysterious fleet of ships near gas giant at the heart of their solar system, feeding a live stream from both NASA's _Palenque_ and Northrop Grumman's _Archon _directly to his office. At first, he was fascinated by the fleet, but now, he was just bored. They seemed much more interested in Jupiter than in Earth or anything else in the solar system, since they'd been there nearly a week now and had nothing to do with them except for the ruckus with the _Olympus_ and in Japan – and they didn't even know if that was related! Tempas knew he had much better things to do than stare at these ships, waiting for something to happen. They had a shuttle launch scheduled for tomorrow, and that was where his energy should be focused; with all the attention he had to direct elsewhere, they were lucky it would happen at all.

Tempas' watch alarm went off, and he sighed. Seven PM: time to take attendance and make sure these ships were all present and accounted for. He took the printout of the last checkup and started comparing it to the images on his screens, crossing off each ship as they were identified.

This time, however, he knew right away that something was wrong.

The surprise was so great that Tempas jumped out of his chair and didn't even notice it crash to the floor behind him. One of the ships was missing, a large and very distinct one. He maximized the full-field view given by _Archon _to get a view of the entire fleet at once; many of the small ships disappeared, unable to be resolved, but the larger ones remained. They were all grouped together. There were no strays, and no natural satellites obscuring the probe's view. He would recognize that ship anywhere, and it was nowhere to be seen. It had been there the last time, though – what happened to it between now and four hours ago?

Tempas switched back to _Palenque _and started to turn back the clock. Everything the two space telescopes sent to him had been stored, and the answer had to be in there. When he found what he was looking for a few minutes later, it did little to curb his panic: ninety-seven minutes earlier, their missing ship had vanished in a flash of light.

He seized his phone, and with shaking fingers, dialed the number that would connect him directly to the president. Vincent Powers' baritone voice came through after the second ring. "This is Powers. Go ahead, Dinakar."

"Vince, we have a serious problem," Tempas frantically declared, dispensing with all formality. "One of the ships has vanished, a big one. I don't know where it went."

"When?" Powers asked, his voice rising with concern.

"About an hour and a half ago. I noticed it when I started the scheduled update just now."

"Which ship?"

"The big star-shaped one; you know, the one that looked kind of like two Y's on top of each other."

The president responded, but Tempas didn't get the chance to hear it. His office door had burst open, and in came the deputy administrator, Elliot Bertruger, panting hard and looking as though he'd just seen a ghost... or an alien, given the circumstances. "Dinakar, incoming call and data stream from the _Olympus_. You'd better take it."

"Elliot, I'm on the phone with the _president_!" Tempas said. "I don't have time for this!"

Bertruger determinately walked over to Tempas' desk and hit a button on the underside, causing a panel on the wall to slide aside and reveal the screen for his video line. For a moment, all that was visible on it was static, but as the image cleared, the reason for Bertruger's intrusion became apparent. An external camera from the _Olympus_ had captured an image that was not comforting at all: a sleek, submarine-sized spacecraft with two small ones alongside it, heading straight for Earth.

The deputy administrator looked at Tempas squarely and said, "Yes, you do."

Tempas stared at the screen, mouth open and eyes wide. He tried to speak to the president, but his throat had gone dry. He swallowed, with extreme difficulty, and tried again. "Vince," he managed to squeak, "meet me at the Pentagon in thirty minutes."

* * *

**Kadena Air Base  
Okinawa, Japan**

United States Air Force pilot Benton Kovolsky couldn't have asked for a better day. Even late November mornings like this one usually dawned clear and comfortable in Okinawa, and warmed up later in the day. The weatherman giving the report that came during Ben's traditional sunrise jog around the base said they could expect highs in the mid-seventies. When he got off-duty at six, he imagined the weather would be perfect for sitting down on the beach with his buddies and his birthday present: a bottle of tequila from his grandfather's distillery. Now he just had to hope Puchantey wouldn't have another epic hangover, like he did at _his_ birthday back in July. As far as Ben was concerned, his team was the best group of pilots on the base. Off-duty antics were necessary to take the edge off, and he encouraged them – hell, he was usually at the _center_ of them – but he always drew the line before they ran the risk of negatively affecting the way they performed in the cockpit the next day.

Ben didn't go on duty until ten, but he was in the locker room at nine thirty. Several of his friends were, too, including Nathan Puchantey, who had been his wingman ever since they graduated from the Academy. "And look who it is!" the towel-clad Nate announced when Ben appeared. "They still letting you fly, old man?"

Ben laughed and began fiddling with the combination on his locker. "I'm only twenty-nine, dumb ass, and they'll let me fly until I'm eighty as long as I can keep kicking _your_ sorry butt."

"Oh, I'm sorry; who saved _whose_ ass in the last training maneuver over Nakayiri?" Nate retorted. "Certainly wasn't your momma!"

"Don't you _even_ bring my mother into this," Ben replied. "She'd have both of us peeling potatoes for the rest of our deployment if she knew about the _last_ birthday party this squad had."

Nate dropped down onto the bench by Ben's locker group, as did a few others who had gotten caught up in the banter between Kadena's two top guns. "Speaking of which, did you get the goods?"

"It's your birthday, Kovolsky?" inquired a pilot named Dobbs.

"Nope. They just sent me this 'cause they love me." Ben pulled a bottle of golden liquor out of his locker, and a chorus of "ooh" and "aah" went through the immediate vicinity. He smiled triumphantly. "Dos Hermanos Espinoza añejo, straight from my grandfather's distillery in Ixtlahuacán del Rio. You won't ever find a bottle of this for less than two hundred dollars."

"Why is your twenty-ninth birthday such a big deal?" asked another pilot, Burke. "Seems kind of a weird occasion for a two hundred dollar bottle of tequila."

"I'm Mexican. We don't _need_ 'occasions.' We _always_ know how to celebrate."

"How can you _possibly_ be Mexican?" asked a pilot named Callahan over the laughter resulting from Ben's pride in his heritage. "Isn't 'Kovolsky' a Russian name?"

"Kazakh, actually," Ben clarified, "and I'm a _quarter _Mexican, thank you very much. Kovolsky is probably Russian, originally, but my dad's family has been in Kazakhstan for like ten generations, so it's Kazakh now. I'm not sure, and honestly, I don't really care. I've only seen the guy three times in my entire life."

He was unable to hide the contempt in his voice, and changed the subject before thinking too much about his mother's sperm donor ruined his day. He might only be a quarter Mexican by blood, but his Latin relatives were the family he was closest to in spirit. Ben hoisted the bottle above his head and climbed onto the bench. "Gents, when we're done for the day, you are all invited to the fiesta!"

The locker room erupted in cheers, but they were quickly drowned out by the sound of an alarm, with an accompanying call to action stations. Ben shoved the tequila bottle back into his locker and donned his flight suit as quickly as he could. He liked to joke around, but when the call of duty sounded, he took it very seriously.

"Let's go, guys!" he shouted. "Sixty-seventh, get to the hangars!" He wasn't officially on duty yet, but if this was an emergency, that didn't matter. With the previous shift just about to go off duty, Ben and any of his pilots that were here early would get into a fighter the fastest. It was probably a drill – they'd been running them like mad lately – but whether it was or wasn't, wasting time was unacceptable.

The dozen or so pilots who were able to respond most quickly to the alert were met at the base's central F-15 hangar by Colonel Brian House, the base's vice commander. House's presence and grim expression removed any lingering questions about whether or not this was a drill. "Incoming bogey, ladies and gentlemen," the colonel informed them. "Kovolsky, Burke, and Puchantey: you get to go chase it down. Kovolsky, you're on point. You'll receive more information as we get it, but right now, it looks like it's heading for mainland Japan. That cannot happen. Intercept, and escort it back here. Do _not_ engage unless you are fired upon or receive direct orders from myself."

Burke and Nate rushed for their fighters, which had already been pulled out onto the runway and were ready to taxi, but Ben wanted answers before he took to the air. "Colonel House!" he called, fighting his way through the commotion. When he had the colonel's attention, he asked, "Sir, what are we looking for?"

House shook his head apologetically. "I don't know, Captain. General Bagalayos received the order to launch fighters straight from the president, and all we were told was that we'd know it when we saw it. The Pentagon is calculating intercept coordinates, and we should have them by the time you're in the air."

Ben knew he shouldn't be thinking twice about getting in his plane – he'd flown dozens of combat missions – but something about this one didn't feel right. Why would they get a direct order from the president himself, but have so little information to supplement it?

There was no time to ponder the unusual circumstances; he had an order, and his only directive was to see it executed. He saluted House, then followed Burke and Nate over to the three F-15s that were prepped for takeoff. As he climbed into the cockpit, he thought about the bottle of tequila in his locker, and had the strangest feeling that it would be a long time before he got to open it.


	8. False Start

**CHAPTER SEVEN****  
False Start**

_**Celestial Mariner **_**military escort  
Somewhere over the Pacific**

"Husker, _Mariner_. We're approximately six hundred kilometers away from the city," came the voice of the _Mariner's_ captain through Bill Adama's headset. "We are reducing speed and descending to eighteen thousand meters."

"Copy that, _Mariner_." Adama eased up on the throttle and gently steered his Viper closer to the _Mariner_ as she pitched downward. "Starbuck, move alongside for descent."

"Aye aye," Kara Thrace replied, then added with a chuckle, "Husker."

Adama was soon close enough to the larger vessel to have a clear view of the forward observation lounge, and took advantage of the proximity to see how the others were holding up. Lee was pacing and looked like he was talking to someone, probably Racetrack, since she was looking at him. The Marines were spread throughout the room, some conversing, some going through equipment, and some looking out the glass at the deep blue ocean below. Tom Zarek and Laura Roslin were still talking, as they had been the entire trip, and sat so close together that their knees were nearly touching, a fact that induced a surge of jealousy in Adama's gut. He didn't like the interest Zarek had taken in the president over the last few months. Most of it was political, but if the way he looked at her when he thought no one else was watching served as any indicator, not all of it was.

Suddenly, Roslin's shoulders slumped, and she covered her face with one hand and hugged herself with the other. It was uncharacteristic of her to show any outward signs of distress, but any compassion Adama felt for her situation vanished when Zarek took her hand and appeared to be offering some words of encouragement. The admiral scowled; how _dare_ he touch her? And how could he do anything about it while still maintaining the sanctity of the mission?

"Starbuck, Husker. Delay that last order," Adama said as an idea took him. "Come about; I'm dropping down and ahead to scout. _Mariner_, I'll be going across your nose to reduce friction on initial burst. It'll be loud, but harmless."

Once the _Mariner _confirmed and Kara was where she needed to be, Adama rolled his Viper hard to the left. The barrel roll was executed in such a way that the second full revolution carried him in an arc directly over the observation deck with only feet to spare, and as he came out of it, he kicked in the afterburners. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book, and came in particularly handy in atmospheric flight; the basic idea was to fool the laws of physics into thinking the Viper was a missile being fired from the larger ship. To the people in the forward observation lounge, it would both look and sound like they were under attack.

He expected Zarek to be the only one who would be caught off-guard; anyone who'd ever flown a fighter would know exactly what he was doing as soon as he entered the barrel roll, and he knew Roslin had seen it performed at least once, probably even before the attacks. The maneuver was successful on all counts. He shot away from the _Celestial Mariner_ like a bat out of hell, but not before he had the chance to see Tom Zarek jump out of his seat when the sky above him turned to fire and shook with a sonic boom.

Adama smiled triumphantly as the _Mariner _faded from view. Hot shot pilot, one; sleazy ex-terrorist, zero.

His self-satisfaction was short-lived: minutes after he shot away from the _Mariner_, an alarm sounded as his DRADIS console picked up thee new contacts, coming in from straight ahead. Based on their distance and speed, they would be on top of them in just a few minutes. "_Mariner_, Husker," he radioed. "Three new DRADIS contacts bearing down on us, estimate two minutes out from my current position, and four from you."

"We see them, Husker," the _Mariner_ replied. "Do you have a visual?"

"Negative. They're still a few hundred meters below me, but they're climbing." He cursed himself for giving in to Roslin's stipulation that there only be two fighter escorts. For a moment, he thought he should keep going and head them off, but changed his mind when he weighed it against the other options. He could easily eliminate an enemy force this size, but if these contacts were hostile, he didn't want to leave the _Mariner_ with only one Viper in case this was a decoy. They'd pulled that trick on the Cylons enough times that he'd feel like a damned fool if he fell for it himself. "I'm returning to you."

Adama flipped his Viper around, and once it had stabilized, jetted back in the direction he came. The DRADIS contacts were gaining on him. Whatever these things were, they had been designed specifically for atmospheric flight, unlike the Viper. For the first time in the mission, he felt something he could only describe as fear. He'd always been one of the best pilots in the Colonial fleet, and being at the controls of a Viper even after all this time came as easily as tying his shoes. This wasn't the Colonial fleet, though, and they weren't facing Cylons, the enemy they'd long fought and studied. This was Earth, and he knew nothing about it.

"_Mariner_, Husker," Adama said as the ship grew larger against the azure sky. "Spool up your FTL."

* * *

"Bill, what the hell are you doing?" Laura Roslin wondered aloud when the _Mariner_'s captain informed them of Adama's FTL order. That didn't make sense. So far, the only thing apparently wrong with their mission was that everyone's blood pressure had risen ten points from nerves.

"Precisely what I'd like to know," Tom Zarek added, noticeably irritated. He hadn't appreciated the admiral's little stunt over the observation lounge, and the feeling was intensified when he realized he was the only one who had no idea what Adama was doing.

It wasn't Roslin's style to sit around and wait for something to happen; she set off at a brisk pace in the direction of the cockpit, with Zarek and the younger Adama on her heels. "Captain," she said as she rapped on the door, "may I please speak with Admiral Adama?"

The captain opened the door and allowed the president inside; seeing there wasn't much room, Zarek and Lee waited outside with the door still open. "If this is about the FTL order," the captain said to the president, "I don't think it's anything to worry about. Probably just a precaution."

"Thank you, Captain." From the tone of Roslin's voice, it was clear that while she believed he was correct, she wanted to get her information straight from the source just in case. She picked up the ship-to-ship microphone and depressed the _Transmit_ button on the control panel. "Admiral Adama, this is the president."

"Madam President!" Lee whispered hoarsely. "Pilots go by call signs during flight. It's easier." _ All this time and she still needs me to be her military advisor_, he thought, and smiled on the inside.

"Oh, yes," Roslin said absentmindedly. "Admiral Husker, do you copy?"

Now Lee was smiling on the outside, unable to help himself. He didn't even bother trying to correct her. Innocence was such a rare commodity these days that it was charming no matter what form it took. Besides, her habit of linking rank and call sign was a quirk that started with him, and it reminded him of the special bond she'd formed with his family.

"Madam President, this is Husker. I have a bad feeling about this. I want the _Mariner_ to jump away if it looks like we're going to be attacked."

"What about you and Captain Starbuck?"

"We'll be fine. We've got enough fuel to make it back to the baseship. For now, we're staying on course. You just need to be able to make a quick getaway if you need to."

"Do you think that will be necessary?" she asked, looking down at the DRADIS console and the three unknown contacts that were closing in.

There was a pause on Adama's end, and then, "Well, we'll know real soon."

* * *

Ben Kovolsky was sweating. It was getting into his eyes and stinging, and he couldn't wipe it away because of his helmet. It wasn't because it was hot; even though it _could_ get hot in the F-15's pressurized cockpit, his flight suit was temperature-controlled. It had to be nerves. The higher they climbed, the more the sweat came down. They were fast approaching the F-15's sixty-five thousand foot ceiling, and the laws of aerodynamics were going to start doing some funny things if they didn't get back down to a more serviceable level soon.

"You holding up, Crossfire?" came Nathan Puchantey's voice over the radio, referring to Ben by his call sign.

"I'm holding _something_, Slingshot," Ben replied. "If we don't get our Eagles down about fifteen thousand feet here real quick, we're all boned." Fortunately, they should know what they were dealing with soon; their radar was reading the bogeys just above the next level of cloud cover. _Just a little higher..._

Moments later, the three fighters reached their target altitude, and there was nothing but the sky above and clouds below as far as they could see... nothing except a flying submarine and two small planes flying alongside it.

"Son of a bitch!" came Burke's voice.

Ben was so shocked that he could not help but echo Burke's statement. "Son of a bitch!"

* * *

"Son of a bitch!" Kara Thrace exclaimed when the three unknown DRADIS contacts burst into view. "What the hell are those things?"

"Whatever they are, they're coming for us," was the reply from the other Viper. "We don't know if they're hostile, but just in case, don't let them get near the _Mariner_."

As the strange aircraft grew closer, Kara saw that while they didn't resemble Vipers much, from the way the three were flying, they probably served a similar purpose. She wondered how the Colonial air superiority fighters compared to Earth's.

While Kara was studying her opponents, an unusual sound came through her headset. It was garbled at first, but gradually became more clear – whoever it was, they were probably trying to find the right frequency. When they succeeded, Kara could hear what they were saying, but could not make sense of it.

"Husker, Starbuck," Kara said. "Are you getting this? I think they're trying to tell us something."

* * *

"Unknown aircraft, you are in restricted airspace," Ben Kovolsky said over the radio, having successfully picked up the radio frequency the bogeys were using to communicate with each other. Perhaps they were human after all. "Identify yourselves and enter holding pattern for escort to Kadena Air Base."

All he got back was the chatter in the bizarre language he'd never heard before. Ben didn't know what to make of it. He wasn't an expert, but he _was_ fluent in English, Spanish, and Japanese, and fancied himself smart enough to at least guess a different language's region. "Pelican, Slingshot, get alongside them," Ben ordered his two wingmen. "I'll keep trying to get through."

As Burke and Nate broke off, Ben contacted the ground. "Kadena, Crossfire. Get a linguist on this and figure out what these guys are saying."

* * *

"_Mariner_, Husker. Two of them have broken away. The leader's still holding position."

"Do you want us to jump, Husker?"

"Negative," Adama replied. "They haven't done anything hostile yet." He wished he knew what they were saying, but at least the rules of combat appeared to be universal. He tried to imagine what orders he would be giving right now if he were an Earth commander in this situation. _ Three unknown ships have just come out of the sky and are flying toward the capital,_ he thought. _They haven't attacked or otherwise threatened our people in any way, but I can't take the chance of letting them get near our leaders just in case that's their plan. What am I going to do?_

The leader was still coming straight at them, but with reduced speed; the other two had made wide arcs that placed them behind the _Mariner_, and were now coming up alongside the civilian vessel. No weapons had been fired, and Adama was starting to put two and two together. _I am going to escort them to a military facility_.

Suddenly, the lead ship's trajectory arced up and around, placing him between Adama and the _Celestial Mariner_, and at a higher altitude than both. He fired something; Adama entered a barrel roll to dodge it, and as he was spinning, seized the controls for the guns just in case. When whatever had been fired exploded, however, he saw that it was just a harmless flash of light.

"Husker, Starbuck!" Kara shouted over the radio. "I've got a clear shot – I'm taking this guy out before he can fire off another!"

"Negative, Starbuck!" Adama ordered. "It was just a flare! Do not engage!"

* * *

"I repeat: do _not_ engage," Colonel House told Ben over the radio. "Fire another flare if you need to, but don't neutralize the target unless they won't follow you to Kadena. Now that you've got their attention, see if they'll comply."

"Yes, sir. All right, boys, you heard the man," Ben told his two pilots. "Let's bring 'em home."

Ben pitched his F-15 downward until he was alongside the craft at which he'd fired the flare. Soon, he was close enough to see the pilot himself. He appeared human, but Ben wasn't as comforted by that fact as he hoped he would be. He fired another flare straight ahead to get the pilot's attention, and once he had it, pointed to himself, then pointed down. Verbal communication wasn't working, so hopefully, this foreigner would understand the gestures.

Ben held his breath as he waited for a reaction from the other, and let it out when the man pointed at the Air Force pilot, then at the ground, and nodded. "Pelican, Slingshot, I think he gets it!" he radioed. "Kadena, Crossfire. We're bringing them down!"

* * *

"_Mariner _and Starbuck, Husker. I think he wants us to follow him," Adama informed their other two ships. "Reduce your speed, and let these guys lead. _Mariner, _do _not_ power down your FTL."

"Yes, sir," the _Mariner_ responded, and Kara echoed the acknowledgment a moment later.

Adama allowed himself to relax a bit for the first time since he'd climbed into the Viper back aboard the _Fate's Embrace_. Maybe Laura was right in calling for just two escort ships. These people were surprised, but it didn't look like they wanted to hurt them. This whole Earth thing could probably work out after all.

**Kadena Air Base  
Okinawa, Japan**

Approximately thirty minutes after they were intercepted by the Earth fighters, the _Celestial Mariner_ and her two escorts touched down on a long, wide airstrip at what they assumed was some sort of military installation. Laura Roslin watched as several dozen people approached, some on foot, others in vehicles, and took a deep breath to prepare herself for her first encounter with the people of Earth. _If they wanted to hurt us, they would have done it already_, she rationalized. _We can do this_.

She had a feeling it was going to be a long day. She'd heard the chatter taking place between the Earth pilots, and Adama and Starbuck's subsequent wondering as to what they were saying. The language barrier was going to be a problem, but it was also one they'd expected. Hopefully, there would be _someone_ on Earth who understood them, and since they all shared a common birthplace, after all, it seemed likely. Besides, there were ways of communicating without words – how else would Adama have known the Earth pilots wanted the Colonials to follow them?

There was no time to second guess, to look back. It was now or never, all or nothing. She gave her attention to her vice-president. "Ready, Tom?"

"I was born ready, Laura," he replied smoothly.

They moved through the _Celestial Mariner_ toward the cargo hold: Roslin at the center, with Zarek on her right and Lee on her left. Olivia, Racetrack, and the Marines fell into formation behind them. The ramp was open, and their path was illuminated with sunlight. As their eyes adjusted, the silhouette of the people below became more clear. They were giving the colonists a wide berth, but were still close enough to make out faces. Most wore similar uniforms, though a few latecomers running in were in flight suits, and their expressions were nearly universal as well: curiosity mixed in with fear.

Roslin's nerves were rising again, and she glanced around, hoping to see Adama or Kara. She relaxed slightly when she saw their Vipers near the _Mariner_ and the two pilots edging toward their group, keeping their eyes on the Earth humans and their hands visible. They stopped at the base of the ramp leading into the larger ship, where the others were coming down.

The colonial procession soon reached the end of the ramp, and following Roslin's lead, moved away from their ship and toward the members of the thirteenth tribe that had come to greet them. When they were about halfway between the _Mariner_ and the strangers who looked like then, they stopped. All was silent as they stared at each other, and finally, the President of the Colonies spoke.

"My name is Laura Roslin, President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol," she began. "We come to Earth in peace, seeking a safe haven for our people, and to reunite humanity. We have traveled long and far, and respectfully request to speak with Earth's leaders so that we might tell our story."

The Earth humans were unresponsive for the most part. Only one came closer: a short, dark-haired woman with tanned skin, more decorations on her uniform than the others, and two stars on each shoulder. She moved with an authoritative air, but did not speak.

Roslin took a few more steps forward, with Zarek matching pace; she motioned for the others to stay behind. "This is my vice-president, Thomas Zarek," she said, then gestured toward Adama, "and the admiral of our fleet, William Adama. We know you may not understand our words, but pray there are those in this world who do. Our scriptures tell us the birthplace of humanity was the sacred planet of Kobol, and that Earth was the first tribe to depart from the ancient home of the gods. Long ago, our people were as one, and we seek for humanity to become whole again."

The woman with the stars on her uniform finally spoke, with power in her voice that belied her stature, but they could not understand her words save for one: "Earth."

"You're getting through to them," Zarek whispered excitedly.

Roslin was beaming. "I know, I know," she whispered in return. The success had restored not only her confidence, but the others as well. Her mind drifted back to her days as a teacher, and she thought of some of the young children she'd worked with who had trouble understanding things. It didn't mean they weren't intelligent – obviously, these people here on Earth were smart – they just weren't able to express things in the same way. Nouns and gestures were the most effective way to communicate. It was primitive, but it could work.

The president made a sweeping motion with her arm, indicating the area around them. It would be best to clarify. "Earth."

The other woman did the same thing. "Earth," she repeated, and said another word while nodding.

"That must mean 'yes,'" Zarek guessed, reading into the woman's body language.

The woman brought her palm to her chest and tapped it lightly. "Rebecca Bagalayos."

Roslin repeated the gesture and stated her name. "Laura Roslin."

Bagalayos pointed at her. "Laura Roslin."

The Colonial president nodded and decided to test Zarek's theory on the other word. "Yes, Rebecca Bagalayos."

"Think they're ready for more?" Zarek whispered.

"I do. And I think we're going to be all right." She took Zarek's left hand in her right, and raised it high enough for them all to see. With her left hand, she indicated him, herself, and the other people with them, then held it out toward Bagalayos. "Friend to Earth."

She didn't have to wonder if Bagalayos understood; the confused look on the other woman's face was all the answer she needed. Roslin sighed and racked her brain for another idea. Recalling that she was still holding hands with Zarek, she pointed at him, said, "Tom," and embraced him.

Zarek was a little surprised, but he didn't mind, and he could see where she was going with this. "Tom friend," he said, making a show of hugging Roslin in return. "Laura friend."

Roslin finished the analogy as they let go of each other. "Earth friend."

The Earth woman walked forward until she was about half the distance from her previous position away from the two Colonial leaders, and when she stopped, she held out her hand. "Friend to Earth friend."

Not even the fact that she knew she sounded like a two-year-old could bring down Roslin's mood. Could there be any doubt that they were all human, that somewhere deep inside, they knew they were looking at a long-lost brother or sister? They wouldn't be able to communicate this way in the long run, but it could at least hold them over until they knew more about each other. The message was getting across, and clearly, the Earth humans were not without intelligence. Everything was coming together.

* * *

On top of a building several hundred feet away, a man dressed in black was looking at the strangers who came out of the spaceship through the scope of a sniper rifle. "I see them," he said into his headset. "I have a shot."

"Then take it," his controller ordered. "Kill the one called Laura Roslin. The rest will fall when their leader does."

The man switched on his targeting laser, and adjusted the rifle until he saw the red dot on the woman's head through his scope. The laser was the only way to make sure his aim would be true; he had one shot, and if he missed, the consequences would be severe.

"Remember, the Handle of Humanity must be protected at all costs," came the disembodied voice of the controller once more. "I cannot protect you if you fail."

"By your command," he said, and wrapped his finger around the trigger.

* * *

Tom Zarek was starting to take back everything he ever said about putting a schoolteacher in charge of the government. Roslin's approach to the situation, while primitive, was working, and she had both the patience to do it and the intelligence to think of it in the first place. He watched her, feeling pleased, as she interacted with the Earth leader. _You done good, Roslin_, he thought. _You done real good_.

Pleasure turned to panic, though, when he noticed something strange out of the corner of his eye: a small but bright red dot on Roslin's temple. There was no time to think, only to act, but even as he shouted a warning and grabbed the president, he heard the shot and feared he was too late.


	9. Fight or Flight

**CHAPTER EIGHT****  
Fight or Flight**

**Kadena Air Base  
Okinawa, Japan**

For a moment, all Laura Roslin could see was a gray haze, and indistinct shapes moving back and forth. A dull pain resonated in her shoulder. She'd heard gunfire – had she been shot? As both her mind and vision cleared, she began to piece together what had just happened. The gray haze wasn't a figment of her imagination: several of the Marines tossed smoke bombs as she went down, providing them with cover and confusion so that they might make their escape. Roslin touched her sore shoulder, and her fingers found blood. However, when she lifted her head to get a better look at the situation, she saw no wound, and realized it was not _her_ blood.

Tom Zarek was laying beside her, his face contorted and his hand over his shoulder. Blood was pouring out of the wound, oozing through his fingertips and staining everything in their path. His breathing came in short, sudden bursts: he was going into shock. At least he _was_ breathing, so there was hope.

"Tom!" she cried. Her ears were ringing; gunfire was being exchanged from both sides, and people were shouting orders. She called her vice-president's name again and shook him by his non-injured shoulder. "Tom, can you hear me?"

"I can hear you," he said through clenched teeth. "Did they get you? Are you hurt?" He seized up, but then managed to fight back the crippling pain. "Frak!"

"No, no, I'm fine, thanks to you." She'd concluded her own shoulder was hurting because that was how she fell.

Roslin didn't know what else to do or say; in all the chaos, she couldn't even tell who was friend or foe. Someone was coming their way, a woman, with dark hair tied in a ponytail that was coming loose and wearing a uniform with a Colonial insignia: Racetrack. "Time to go, Madam President!" she said, pulling Roslin to her feet.

"What about Zarek?" Roslin asked frantically. Looking back, she saw that two more of their Marines helping the vice-president up. She broke free of Racetrack's grip, then inserted herself between Zarek and one of the Marines. "You two, give us covering fire!" she ordered. "We can take care of him!"

They half-ran, half-stumbled back over to the ship, with Zarek turning into more and more dead weight with each step. On the edge of sheer panic, though, was how Roslin found her strength. Even with all the war she'd had seen in the last few years, there were only a handful of times she was directly in the line of fire, and she'd never taken an enemy bullet in her flesh. Laura Roslin was a fighter – that, anyone could attest to – but she was no soldier.

Lee Adama took over for the second Marine when they reached the _Celestial Mariner_'s boarding ramp. "Where were you hit?" he asked, noticing all the blood covering both. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, but Zarek's been shot," Roslin answered. "He's lost a lot of blood. We have to get back to the fleet!"

Meanwhile, Kara Thrace was also moving closer to the ramp, firing into the smoke as she inched toward the others. "Frak!" she shouted. "They've captured someone! I can't tell who, but we'd better get the frak out of here before they get us all!"

Roslin's heart sank. _Oh, no..._ And to think she thought it was all going so well!

William Adama burst onto the scene next, bleeding from a cut over his eye. "We can't get to the Vipers!" he said. "We'll have to leave them!" As soon as the situation turned for the worst, the admiral knew this wasn't a battle they could win here. With fight ruled out, their only other choice was flight.

Bullets began raining down on the ramp, and while none found human targets, they did plenty of scaring as they ricocheted off the the support beams and side of the ship. "Let's _go_!" yelled Kara. "Get on or get left!"

Adama took off running through the _Celestial Mariner_, with the cockpit as his goal. The cut on his face bled harder with every beat of his heart, and the sting was so strong he could no longer bear to keep his eye open. "We've got to get out of here!" he shouted when he reached his destination. "We've got one man down, and it'll be all of us if we don't take off _now_!"

The ship began rising into the air, and back in the cargo hold, Kara was pulling the last Marine onto the ramp as it closed. "Who'd we lose, Venner?" she asked.

"Racetrack, sir," Venner gasped. "They shot her, and Sykes too, when he tried to get her."

"Where's Sykes?" Kara demanded. "Is he alive?"

"Yes, sir, but he's out cold. I think they got him with some sort of tranquilizer."

Kara excused herself, then joined Lee and Roslin at Zarek's side. Roslin had taken off her sash and was using it to stop the bleeding, and while it was doing its job, blood was still seeping through. The vice-president was still conscious, but rapidly losing color. "He going to be all right?" the Viper pilot asked. She couldn't help but recall the time she tried to snipe Zarek, and now, over four years later, someone decided to come in and pick up where she left off.

"If we get him to Doc Cottle soon enough, yeah," answered Lee.

"Just hang on; we'll be there soon," Roslin told Zarek. Looking around, she frantically added, "Why haven't we jumped yet? Did they take out our FTL? How quickly can we get back to the _Embrace_?"

"I'm not dying, Laura," Zarek assured her in between short, shallow gasps for air. "It just hurts like hell."

"They probably want to get higher," Lee guessed. "Jumping from here into a place with no atmosphere will shake things up pretty bad for anything that isn't secured."

"Frak the science!" Kara exclaimed. "Let's just get out of here!"

It was is the captain heard her; a moment later, his voice came over the ship's intercom. "Stand by for jump in ten, and everyone hold on to something."

"Laura..." Zarek whispered as the countdown began.

Roslin found his cold hand and wrapped her own blood-soaked fingers around it. "Yes, Tom?"

"I'm sorry... for everything. This isn't exactly the end I thought we'd find."

"This isn't the end." The countdown finished, and just before they jumped, she added, "It's the beginning."

* * *

**Battlestar _Galactica_  
In orbit around Jupiter**

Karl Agathon was starting to worry. It had been almost three hours since he heard from the Earth delegation, and the last news was that his wife was staying with the _Fate's Embrace_ while the others went down to the planet on the _Celestial Mariner_. Sharon should at least be checking in with them. Why wasn't she? Did it have something to do with the ship?

He was pacing up and down in the CIC, stopping only to scan the nearest instrument panels for changes in their readings. The other officers had given up trying to calm him down. They were all anxious, but he was the XO, and had the most severe edge to take off. Finally, he stopped, and looked at the communications officer. "Dee, put me through to the _Fate's Embrace_."

"Yes, sir," Lieutenant Dualla returned. Her fingers danced across the keyboard in front of her, and then she spoke into the microphone on her headset. "_Fate's Embrace_, _Galactica_. Please respond when you receive. We wish for an update on your situation." Ending the transmission, she gave her attention to Agathon. "With the distance, it'll be about fifteen minutes before we get a response.

The young major sighed and looked around the room at the anxious faces under his command. He'd served as _Galactica's _XO before, but that didn't mean he had all the right qualifications to permanently assume the post after Saul Tigh's death – he was just the one who happened to have a feel for the job and the respect of the crew. More importantly, Adama had always been there. The admiral knew Agathon's circumstances resulted in a need for constant on-the-job training, and their relationship was more student-mentor than commander and executive officer. With Adama off on a dangerous mission, Helo wasn't just keeping things in order on _Galactica_ – he was charged with the security of the entire fleet.

Suddenly, an alert sounded, and Agathon's gut gave a lurch. Sharon couldn't have responded that quickly. "Lieutenant Gaeta, report," he requested of the chief tactical officer.

"DRADIS contact," Gaeta replied, and read off the bearing. "It's the _Celestial Mariner_!"

Well, that was one question answered, but where was the _Fate's Embrace_?

"The _Mariner_'s requested priority landing, and they need Doc Cottle," Dee chimed in. "The vice-president's been shot!"

_Frak!_ Helo thought as cold panic gripped his heart, but didn't dare lose his composure in front of the others. "Get them aboard," he said. "Lieutenant Riley, locate Dr. Cottle, and tell them to get sick bay ready. Dee, tell the _Mariner_ I'll meet them on the deck and stand by for response from the _Embrace_. Mr. Gaeta, you have the command."

A chorus of "yes, sir"s followed him as he left the CIC. Agathon tried to rationalize things as he hastily walked in the direction of the landing bay. Clearly, things had not gone how they'd hoped on Earth. If someone was injured, especially as severely as he presumed from the urgency in Dee's voice, it would make sense for the _Mariner_ to jump right back to the fleet instead of regroup with the _Embrace_. Then, there was the matter of how and why Tom Zarek had been shot. Sending the Vipers was probably a bad idea; perhaps Earth saw them as a hostile gesture. What else might they have done? Furthermore, was Zarek the real target at all? If he lived, would whoever was behind the attack try to finish the job? Was anyone else in immediate danger?

There were so many questions that needed to be answered. Helo had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

By the time he reached the landing bay, the _Mariner_ had docked, and its crew and passengers were exiting the craft. Tom Zarek was being carried away on a stretcher by medical personnel. Helo did a quick head count and came up two short: one was Sharon, but where was the other?

"Admiral!" he called, and waved to get Adama's attention. "Sir, what are your orders?"

Adama, in the process of mopping up blood from a cut over his eye, began walking toward his XO. "Meet in my quarters as soon as Athena gets aboard. We need to talk." He looked back at the others getting off the luxury liner, then continued walking and said, "I want to give Lee, Kara, and the president some time to get cleaned up before we start dealing with this."

"Yes, sir," said Agathon. When Adama didn't stop walking, he asked, "Sir, where are _you_ going?"

"I'm not leaving the baseship unattended when it gets here," Adama called back. "We only have one other choice."

* * *

**Kadena Air Base  
Okinawa, Japan**

If Rebecca Bagalayos were to ever make a list of the worst days in her life up until that point, this one would definitely rank near the top. As she stormed through Kadena's detention facility, personnel gave the proud, angry woman her space. She knew she was not a particularly imposing sight to the untrained eye, so throughout her career, she overcompensated with building a reputation. Bagalayos was all of five feet two inches in height, and struggled to keep her weight over a hundred and ten pounds. She was born of a Mexican mother and Filipino father, giving her a dark, exotic appearance that many would have called beautiful if her face wasn't practically frozen into the scowl she wore so often. The small, unusual-looking woman's early days in the Air Force were marked by everything from harmless teasing to attempted rape. Once she established herself as a force to be reckoned with, by a combination of determination, unexpected physical prowess, and sheer ruthlessness, there were few who dared to cross either the line or her path.

Her rise through the ranks, though not unusually quick, was consistent, and drew attention because she was a minority. She became a general four years ago, at the age of fifty-one, being neither the first nor the youngest woman of non-Caucasian descent in the United States Air Force to do so. What set her apart, and skyrocketed her into the public eye, was her controversial appointment at Kadena Air Base. Again, it was not the first time a woman was the ranking officer at a major military installation, but it was true there were not many, and none quite like Rebecca Bagalayos. Few people genuinely liked her, though fewer still could maintain that she wasn't a qualified leader. She did what she had to, without any hesitation, and while she was effective, her methods made her some enemies in high places.

Part of the reason she was stationed at Kadena in the first place was her talent for damage control, but she doubted the Joint Chiefs had anything like this in mind when they sent her here. She thought the Secretary of Defense had been joking when he warned of possible alien contact. Aliens belonged in science fiction and the minds of conspiracy theorists, not the agenda of the United States Air Force. Nevertheless, she followed the order without question, since she'd learned from her previous encounters with Sebastian Tegler that when he said jump, it was in her best interest to ask how high. When word came from the Pentagon that they had incoming, their fighters successfully escorted the bogey back to Kadena. That could have taken any direction, but it took a good one at first: not only were they communicating, they were getting through to each other. The general was sure the one called Laura Roslin and her associates meant Earth no harm, but then someone had to fire a shot and send it all to hell!

She'd gotten on the phone with Tegler immediately after the attack to update him and the Pentagon. While she was delivering the bad news, her second-in-command, Brian House, interrupted with something that only slightly improved the situation: Kadena security apprehended the sniper. They knew nothing about him, other than he freely admitted to the crime. Now, Bagalayos was on her way to glean some answers from this troublemaker, and then check on their other prisoner – the alien. If she believed in God, she would have prayed that they didn't spark some sort of intergalactic war that would wipe out humanity.

Colonel House was waiting outside the sniper's interrogation room in Kadena's brig, with an armed guard. "Tell me some good news, House," Bagalayos said as she approached.

House was a good seven inches taller than his commander, but that didn't prevent him from feeling dwarfed in the shadow of her fury. "Is that an order, ma'am?"

"Apparently not one you can carry out," the general sighed. "I'll settle for whatever you can give me before I go in there."

"I've never seen anything like this guy," House began. "He won't tell us his name. They're running his fingerprints, but it doesn't look promising. He doesn't seem remorseful or scared or anything – he's just sitting there calmly, assuring us it's going to be all right. He seems completely out of it, like he's high or been lobotomized or something, and... and his eyes..."

"What about his eyes?"

"They're _red_, and they kind of... glow. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was a robot."

Bagalayos rolled her eyes. "You've been watching too many Sci-Fi Channel original movies, House." First aliens, now robots. She almost wanted to know what could make this day worse, but quickly changed her mind. She'd wondered the same thing after talking to Sebastian Tegler, her third least-favorite person in the world, and now here she was with House and his attempts to rationalize the unknown with the irrational.

"You say that _now_," House countered. "We'll talk again after you're through with him."

Hopefully, they'd have something else _to_ say after she was through with him. Bagalayos nodded to the guard, and he opened the door. She went inside, with House a step behind. The sniper was sitting at the table, his hands in cuffs, and gazing contentedly at a camera mounted in the corner. He had pasty skin and looked unkempt; his short blonde hair haphazardly stuck out in spots, and his jaw was coated with stubble. The general nearly faltered when she saw his eyes – they _were _a sickly, bloodshot shade of red tinged with yellow and green, and did seem to glow a bit. It had to be the light, she reasoned. She'd never heard of light playing such tricks before, but it made more sense than the alternative.

Bagalayos stopped in front of the table and glared down at their prisoner. "Look at me," she ordered.

The man's head rolled around, and stopped when his eyes made contact with hers. His lips parted into a twisted smile; the left hemisphere of his face appeared completely limp, as if he'd suffered a stroke that immobilized that side. "General Rebecca Bagalayos," he said. His speech was slurred, and a trail of drool glistened at the paralyzed corner of his mouth. "God told me we would meet one day."

"Who are you? Why did you attack the strangers?"

"It's all right," he assured her. "You're safe now. They won't find it."

"Find what?" Bagalayos asked. She placed her hands on the table and leaned forward. "What do you know about them that we don't?" Was it possible he really _was_ protecting them, and _not_ just making trouble?

He gazed at her as intently as he could with his lazy, glowing eyes, and responded, "They would have destroyed it. It will be safe now."

"Destroy what?" Bagalayos asked. "What do you mean?"

"They can't find it," the man said. His head rolled around until it was resting on his right shoulder, and he stared at the ceiling. "They won't find it. They'll leave, and it will be safe."

Bagalayos sighed and stepped away from the table. "See?" House whispered to her. "He's like a robot. He just keeps blabbering on and insisting we're safe now."

The general narrowed her eyes, then lunged forward, seized the underside of the table, and flipped it over. "Tell us what you're talking about!" she shouted. "Who are you? How did you get onto our base? Why did you attack the strangers?"

He barely even blinked at her display of violence. "Don't be afraid. If they make another attempt, we'll stop them." They stared each other down for a moment, and then he whispered, "I must speak to you alone."

Rebecca Bagalayos was not a woman known for her patience, and her temper's short fuse had just run out. She turned around and faced her second. "House," she said quietly, "leave us."

House looked confused. "General..."

She reached under the collar of her uniform and pulled out a necklace she was wearing: a silver chain on which hung a ring. "Find Captain Kovolsky," she instructed as she unfastened the necklace. The ring slid off the chain into the palm of her hand. The center stone was a large, marquis-cut diamond on a rhodium band. "He _is_ the one who apprehended the other prisoner, right?"

"I... I don't know if it was him _exactly_, but he was there, yes," House answered.

Before slipping the ring onto her finger, Bagalayos looked at it just long enough to take in the words inscribed on the underside of the band: _One day, one lifetime_. "Get him," she instructed, "and have him meet me at the other captive's holding cell."

"Yes, ma'am," the colonel conceded, and left the room.

Bagalayos looked behind her to make sure the door was closed, and then into the corner to see if the camera was still running. She wanted a recording of whatever this man was going to say to her, and it was certainly within her right to extract that information by any means necessary. As she approached him, he continued to sit calmly in the chair, fixing her with his otherworldly gaze. She stopped directly in front of him, and without saying anything, raised her arm and backhanded him across the face with so much force it knocked him out of the chair and onto the cold metal floor.

The corners of her mouth twitched up into the slightest of smirks as she admired the long, deep red cut her ring had left across the man's face. Blood was already trickling out of the wound. House was letting his imagination get the better of him. Whatever this man was, he wasn't a robot. Robots didn't bleed.

"I'm going to make this very simple," said Bagalayos. "Drop the clairvoyant bullshit, and you get to keep your face. Understand?"

He hadn't moved at all since he hit the floor, save an occasional blink. Bagalayos didn't wait for a response, and jumped directly into her interrogation. "Why did you attack the aliens?"

"Each of us plays a role, each time a different role," was his whispered reply. "All of this has happened before, and it will all happen again."

"Sorry, not on the list of good answers." She bent down, grabbed his shirt collar, and lifted his torso off the floor in order to have better leverage for another backhand strike across his face. "Why did you attack them?"

He coughed, and blood ran out of his mouth as he spoke. "To save the human race from its end."

Bagalayos spent a moment pondering his words before continuing the interrogation. That was the most sense he'd made since she began her questioning. It was possible that some – no, make that many – could see the arrival of aliens as signaling the end of the world. The rioting in the Philippines and Japan's northern islands certainly proved that. However, that left other things unexplained, like what he was doing on their base in the first place. He clearly wasn't Japanese, and if he was involved in the American military in any way, he would have been identified by now. The attack was obviously intentional, and the targets clear. Few people knew about the standing orders to escort any more sighted alien ships to Kadena Air Base, and Bagalayos could name all of them. It could not be a coincidence: someone in the Powers administration wanted these people dead.

"Someone knew they'd be coming here," the general said. "Who was it? Who sent you?"

"The one who would use me to halt the harbinger of death."

She grabbed him by the throat and hissed, "I want a name!"

"Kara Thrace," he choked. "Kara Thrace..."

She loosened her grip, and he continued once he was able to breathe. "Kara Thrace is the harbinger of death. She will lead the human race to its end."

And who was this Kara Thrace? The name of the alien she'd spoken to was Laura Roslin, and that was who it seemed the sniper's shot was meant for. Perhaps Kara Thrace wasn't among them, or he didn't have a clear shot, or he figured if the leader was eliminated, none of them would return to Earth again.

"Where is Kara Thrace?"

"All that matters is that she does not lead them to the Handle of Humanity."

Every answer he gave spawned two new questions, and Bagalayos was getting more and more frustrated. "Is Kara Thrace the one who sent you?"

The man started to laugh, but it turned into coughing as more blood lodged in his throat. When the fit ended, he smiled, the lines in between his teeth dark and dripping. "_Sent_ me?" he said. "If she knew I was here, knew of my mission, she would give her life to _stop_ me."

"Then _who sent you_?"

"The holy prophet," he whispered. "The messenger of God."

Bagalayos did not even bother to precede this strike with a glare of warning, bringing her foot swiftly into her prisoner's stomach. The blow forced him into a fetal position, and he coughed, expelling more blood onto the floor. "Listen to me, you overzealous piece of shit," she said. "I don't think you have _any_ idea the severity of what you've set into motion, or what's at stake here! If they were looking for a reason to wipe out the human race, well, they have it now!"

"No, Rebecca Bagalayos." The man lifted himself up and tucked his knees underneath him so he was kneeling before her, and stared at her as best he could with his lazy eye. Blood covered the entire lower half of his face, and as he spoke, it looked as though one of his teeth had been knocked out. "_You_ are the one who has no idea. It is not _lives_ that are at stake, but life itself."

She was at a loss for words. Up until then, she thought there was only one man who could render her speechless. Had it been different circumstances, she would have dismissed it as nothing, but this had been a day unlike any she'd ever imagined. Aliens were real. She'd seen them with her own eyes, spoken to them, and was so close to making what she'd thought would have been a peaceful connection until this son of a bitch interfered. Somehow, he knew who they were and where to find them, but it would take some more... _refined_ methods to get the information out of them.

Perhaps her techniques would be more effective on their other captive.


	10. Trepidation

**CHAPTER NINE  
Trepidation**

**Battlestar _Galactica_  
In orbit around Jupiter**

Adama hadn't made it over to this section of the ship since they found Earth. The room that had once been designated Weapons Locker 1701 was in a nearly-forgotten corner of _Galactica_, and suited its new purpose much better than its old. It had been converted in light of more recent events, and while it was not exactly a holding cell, the coded entry, surveillance cameras, and round-the-clock guard kept anything unauthorized from getting in or out. Behind the hatch dwelt someone who had been many things to Adama in the last four years: enemy, prisoner, ally, and now, in a strange way, something like family.

"At ease," Adama told the on-duty guard, and began entering the access code. "Shut the hatch behind me. I need to speak with her in private." The lock disengaged, and he tapped on the door. "This is Admiral Adama. May I come in?"

"Of course, Admiral," remarked a female voice from the other side.

As ordered, the guard closed the door behind Adama as he stepped into the room. The former weapons locker looked more like a studio apartment now. There was a bed in one corner, a couch, a bathing area partitioned off from the rest of the room, rugs covering the cold metal floor, even a kitchen. Laying down on one of the rugs, smiling as she played with a small baby, was the Cylon known as Caprica Six.

"Good evening, Admiral," the Cylon said to Adama's back; he had walked over to the wall to power down the security cameras. She surmised that this was going to be a conversation he didn't want anyone else knowing about. "Look, Jericho, it's Uncle Bill!"

Adama was still getting used to the idea of being called "Uncle Bill," especially by a Cylon, but if he was going to be anyone's uncle, it was only fitting that it would be Saul Tigh's son. "How are you two? Have you been treated well?" Caprica elected to stay aboard _Galactica_ of her own free will after the final battle, wanting to give birth and go through her son's infancy among humans, who knew far more about children than Cylons did. The guards, locks, and cameras were more for her protection than that of the humans aboard the ship.

"We're fine, Admiral," she answered. "You left for Earth this afternoon, didn't you?"

"Yes, and it didn't go as planned."

When he turned around, she was able to see his swollen, still-bleeding eye, and she gasped. "Let me help you." She picked up her son as she stood, laid him on his back on the bed, then retrieved a cloth from a cupboard in her kitchen. "What happened down there?" she asked as she walked over to Adama.

"Long story short, they tried to kill us. They didn't succeed, obviously, but they captured one of our pilots, and Tom Zarek took a bullet in the shoulder protecting the president," said Adama. "It's a nonlethal wound, but he may lose some control of his arm if it isn't treated quickly."

"Where's the basestar?" Caprica asked. "I can't feel its presence anymore."

"It's still near Earth, as far as we know," Adama answered. He and Caprica sat down on the couch, and she began dabbing at his wound with her cloth. "Athena is with it. The _Celestial Mariner_ had to make a quick getaway, and there wasn't time to confirm with Athena. _Galactica_'s contacting her, and she should be returning to the fleet soon, which is where you come in."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Athena needs to participate in our debrief aboard _Galactica_, and Zarek is going to stay under surveillance here until Doc Cottle says otherwise. I need you monitor the _Fate's Embrace_ and make sure it won't jump away until Zarek is able to resume his post."

"What about Jericho?" The Six briefly stopped tending Adama's wound as she looked over at her son. "I don't know what being on a basestar will do to him, psychologically."

"I agree that it probably isn't a good idea to take him aboard one just yet, and I won't force you to do this," Adama said. "If you accept, I'll see that someone I trust watches him." She did nothing other than stare at him with those large, curious eyes, and he added, "Please, Caprica."

She didn't answer him right away. The Cylon closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, it wasn't William Adama sitting before her: it was Gaius Baltar. She reached for the face she once loved so deeply, and her heart ached of longing for him and the child she'd prayed he would give her. What once was love turned sour as she recalled what became of her relationship with him. He was so arrogant, so flawed, so cowardly, so... human.

She blinked again, and Gaius was replaced with the proud but conflicted image of Saul Tigh. Caprica wasn't sure how to place her feelings for Tigh. She'd counseled him, challenged him, forced him to delve into the deepest depths of his humanity, only to learn he was a Cylon as well. She was well aware that he didn't see her at first, during their encounters – he saw his wife. He must have just been learning how to project when he came to her. Everything changed when they found out she was pregnant. He still came to her, promised to do "the right thing" and protect her and their child. She grew to respect him, revered him when it was revealed he was one of the Final Five, and mourned his death even now as she did then. Did she _love_ him? She didn't know. She _did_ know that she loved their child, their Cylon child, their miracle from God. She wished he would have lived to see his son. It might have changed so much.

Or it might have changed nothing. Caprica sighed. Saul Tigh was dead, and his face faded, leaving Bill Adama sitting in front of her. He moved only to blink while the Cylon fantasized, knowing what she was capable of if she felt like it. She felt herself smiling on the inside. If there was one thing Adama learned how to do in the last few years, it was recognize a powerful woman and give her enough to put her in control, but also remind her that he was there too, and he wasn't helpless.

"Where is the president?" Caprica asked, now that her mind was on the woman in Adama's life. "She should be the one doing this." She pulled the cloth away and leaned closer to examine the wound; the bleeding had ceased, but she stayed close. "You should never have left her side."

Other men might have faltered in Six's presence, but Adama fancied himself above that. Women like her were not his weakness; not anymore. Still, though, he agreed with her. He should have been standing beside Laura Roslin down on Earth, not Tom Zarek. He should have taken that bullet for her.

"Do you love her, Bill?"

She'd never called him by his first name before; she'd _used_ it in his presence, of course, but it was always preceded by "Uncle" and addressed to Jericho. What surprised him more was _why_ this was coming up at all. The Cylon mind was a complicated place, full of twists and turns leading to places that seemed irrational. "What do you mean?"

"It's a simple question; I don't see how it could 'mean' anything besides what it is," Caprica said, and repeated, "Do you love her?"

He didn't have the time or the reasons to rationalize his complicated feelings for the president right then and there, and certainly not to a Cylon. However, he also knew that she would pry and twist his words until she got the answer she wanted, so he simply cut to the chase and gave it to her. "Yes."

Satisfied, she leaned away from him. "I will stay aboard the _Fate's Embrace_ until Tom Zarek is able to resume his post on two conditions. One, Jericho stays with Sharon. Two, you include me in this process. I want to know everything you discuss at this meeting you're undoubtedly going to have as soon as you leave here regarding what happened on Earth."

"That's highly classified information," Adama countered. "We can't risk it leaking and creating panic."

Caprica looked at the wall. "Is that why you turned off the security cameras?" She turned her head back toward the admiral. "Really, Admiral, who would I go 'blabbing' to? The way I see it, the Cylons have a large stake in this, especially after you put one of the Final Five directly in the line of fire. If I'm going to lose any more of my brothers or sisters, I want to know why."

"Laura Roslin had no idea what they would-"

"Furthermore," Six interrupted, "I can help you." With a slight quaver in her voice, she continued, "You name me one person in this fleet who is more skilled at studying a strange enemy and coming to understand them so deeply that she was able to infiltrate their highest levels."

"Very well." They were wasting time by carrying out the discussion, and she did have a point. He stood up. "I'll tell you the details on the way. There's no time to lose."

* * *

**Kadena Air Base  
Okinawa, Japan**

When General Rebecca Bagalayos reached their alien prisoner's cell block, she saw Colonel Brian House and Captain Ben Kovolsky standing at attention, and silently told herself to be grateful for the two of them and that they'd followed her orders. So much had gone wrong that day that she would lose her mind if she focused only on the negative, and making a note of even the smallest thing that went right could save her sanity. She saluted, then instructed them to stand at ease. Ben was looking at her curiously; she avoided making eye contact with him. "All right, gentlemen, tell me everything you know."

"We've got her in quarantine to keep possible diseases from either side infecting the other," House began. "We'll speak to her from behind glass, and if you need to go in there from any reason, it'll need to be in a containment suit. She hasn't said anything since we put her in here, but she was yelling plenty when we revived her, so we know she's got a set of pipes that work."

He opened the door behind him, and they walked into a small room filled with observation equipment laid out on a table. Just above the table was a large window that took up most of the wall, and through it, they could see into the containment cell. It was spartan, with a skylight, hard tile floor, bare walls, a chair, a sink and toilet, and a bed with a thin mattress and threadbare blanket, on which the captured woman sat. She was dressed in what were distinctly military fatigues, had dark hair tied back in a ponytail, and wore an angry, defiant look on her face that Bagalayos felt was not unlike her own standard expression.

"Her weapons and electronic equipment have been taken to one of the labs, where they'll be disinfected and examined.," House continued. "I don't think we'll need to take her clothes, but that's your call, General."

"Doesn't seem necessary, but hold the option open." Bagalayos looked at Ben, without meeting his gaze straight-on, and asked, "I understand you shot her, Captain. Is that correct?"

"Yes, ma'am, with a tranquilizer," he confirmed, avoiding her eye as well. "I figured she'd be no good to us dead."

"This is a window, not a mirror, right?" Bagalayos asked, tapping the glass.

"Correct, General," said House. "We can make it into a mirror if you don't want her to see us."

"Maybe later." A microphone was among the equipment on the table. Bagalayos picked it up and directed her next words into it. "This is General Bagalayos, commander of Kadena Air Base." A slight echo coming from the room told her that her words had successfully been transmitted. "We mean you no harm. We know you don't understand our words, but I hope you understand why we're doing what we are. We want to learn from you."

"She's not responding," said Ben. "Instead of talking _at _her, try talking _to_ her. You know, it's that thing we sometimes call proactive communication."

Bagalayos cast a look of warning in his direction, but did not verbally rebuke his insubordinate comment. If there was one person on the base who could speak to her the way she deserved to be spoken to and get away with it, it was Ben Kovolsky. "And what would _you _do, Captain?"

House sensed tension and excused himself. He knew what went on beyond the uniform between these two, and if they were going to let their repressed issues surface, it would be best for anyone else not to see it. No one could accuse them of anything if they didn't see it – the ancient mantra of "don't ask, don't tell" in action.

"Well, let's find out what her name is," Ben suggested, and took the microphone from his commander. "Hi. Hey, over here," he said into the microphone, and waved to get the captured woman's attention. "I'm Ben. _Ben_." He tapped his chest to emphasize his name, much in the way Bagalayos had done earlier with the aliens on the runway. "What is your name? _Name_. Ben. You?"

The woman was looking at him, but expression had not deviated from disdain. She gave no other response or reaction.

"Ben. Name Ben. Name you?"

Suddenly, a thought occurred to Bagalayos, and she asked for the microphone. Ben handed it to her, and she asked, "Are you Kara Thrace?"

The woman rolled her eyes, folded her arms across her chest, and rotated on the bed so her back was to them.

"Call it a hunch, but I don't think her name is Kara Thrace." In House's absence, the young captain didn't think twice about taking protocol out of his discussion with the general. To every other person on the base, Rebecca Bagalayos was their commanding officer, but to Ben Kovolsky, she was much more, and not all of it deserved his respect.

"Do you have a better idea?"

"Yeah: keep trying," he said, and took the microphone back.

Bagalayos would have liked to go in there and speak to the woman directly, but their scientists were right: it was best to have as little contact as possible until they knew if her germs would present any danger to them, or vice versa. Ben, ignoring the obvious futility of his efforts, kept repeating his name in hopes of eliciting a response. As the general watched him, her mind disconnected itself from the moment and fell upon a fond memory. _They never look more alike than the way they look when they don't know when to quit_.

Ben set the microphone down and shot a confused look at his senior officer. "Why are you smiling?"

She didn't even know she _was _smiling until he said it, and quickly replaced it with her default scowl as she folded her arms across her chest.

At that moment, something else caught Ben's keen eye: the flash of a diamond. "And why are you wearing that ring? I didn't think you still had it."

"Because it's good for the same thing the person who gave it to me is: inflicting pain," Bagalayos replied, and hastily removed the ring from her finger.

Ben shrugged and made a thoughtful grunt. "Can't argue with you there." He looked over his shoulder at their captive, still unmoving on the bed with her back to them. "What are we going to do about her?"

"Well, you seem invested in her case," said Bagalayos. "How about I leave you in charge of getting information out of her?"

"You mean... take me off flight duty?" the puzzled young man asked.

"You'd stay on standby for emergencies, of course." She lowered her voice, and continued, "Right now, getting her to talk and understanding what she says is the most important thing happening around here. There's something fishy going on, and I don't know who can be trusted. I'm not asking you because you're somehow more qualified to handle the situation than the tens of dozens of people on this base who have spent their whole careers on interrogation of foreign prisoners. I'm asking you because you're my son, and the only person I can trust unconditionally. Please, Ben."

For only the third time in his entire life that he could recall, she looked vulnerable. Ben quickly looked away, not willing to face the intensity in her eyes. His gaze wandered to their captive, and another sensation gripped his heart: guilt. This woman and her people hadn't meant Earth any harm, and when that man of theirs was hit, all they were trying to do was get away. Calling her an alien made it easier to justify keeping her here like this, like a lab rat in a cage to be poked and prodded. What was next – a maze with cheese at the end?

_Not if I have anything to do with it_.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Yeah, I'll do it, but this has to be on my terms. I don't want anyone to hurt her. No mistreatment, no manhandling, not even raising their voice. We have to make her understand that we are not her enemy."

"She's your charge now, Captain," said Bagalayos. "I want daily updates, and the _minute_ you get her to talk, alert me."

"By your command," Ben said half-mockingly. He reached out and placed his palm on the glass that separated him from the beautiful stranger. She didn't look any more like an alien than he did, and neither did the ones she came with. They seemed so... _human_. Could it be possible?

* * *

**Battlestar _Galactica_  
In orbit around Jupiter**

Laura Roslin couldn't remember the last time she had felt so mentally and physically drained. It had been several hours now since the _Fate's Embrace_ jumped back to the fleet and the Earth delegation began discussing a possible course of action in Adama's quarters, but with all the progress they hadn't made, it didn't look like any time at all. There were six of them sitting on Adama's couch, hunching over a stack of papers and charts on the coffee table: herself, Adama, his son, Kara Thrace, and Karl and Sharon Agathon, and all six had a different opinion. Several of them were at odds with each other, with no one apparently willing to budge on their stance. It was hard to find a compromise when every viewpoint could potentially end in their destruction.

"We _can't_ go back there," Kara insisted. "Not now, when we've seen what they'll do to us! They had _no_ reason to attack us!"

"I agree that they had no reason to attack us, but I don't think one incident is enough reason to write the planet off entirely," Lee countered.

"They tried to kill the President," said his father

"But they _didn't_," said Roslin, "and Zarek's going to be fine."

"They still captured Racetrack," Helo pointed out. "We need to go back for her, and for the Vipers."

"She could already be dead, for all we know," his wife returned.

"And even if she isn't," added Kara, "we run the risk of losing even more people. We have no idea how advanced their weapons are. They could take us all out."

"But if they _wanted_ to do that," said Lee, "they would have."

"And who's to say that _isn't _what they wanted?" asked Helo. "We don't _know_ what they want. We can't communicate with them. We went in too fast and now we're paying for it. If we'd done more recon..."

"It would have taken even longer than it did for us to get down there, and it's really not like they would have acted any differently," Kara said. "Face it: we're frakked."

"Kara, have a little patience," Lee advised.

"Patients are for hospitals," she replied. "We just escaped by the skin of our teeth from something the people in this fleet are going to see as an act of war."

"She's got a point," said Adama. "When the people find out about this, they'll demand action."

"Then let's give them action, but stay away from Earth," said Kara. "A few days ago I had a chance to look at some of the readings our scouts gathered on the fourth planet in the system. It's not populated, but with some terraforming, it could be suitable for habitation."

"Well, with all the work we'd need to put into that, we may as well go back to the Colonies," argued Lee. "Could look for areas that weren't as badly hit on some of the lower-populated planets – Aquaria, Libran – or some of the moons. Within two or three generations, they'll be fully habitable again."

While the younger officers continued to argue back and forth like they had for most of the meeting, Roslin sighed softly and let her eyes find Adama's. She wished they'd been able to speak in private before coming in here, but between his haste to talk Caprica Six into boarding the _Fate's Embrace_ and her sense of duty that kept her at her vice-president's side until he went into surgery made that impossible. As far as they knew, word hadn't leaked to the people about what happened down on Earth, but it wouldn't be long. Once as a course of action was decided upon, they'd have to issue a statement, and then deal with the repercussions within the fleet. There were going to be a lot of unhappy people, and she prayed no one would try anything foolish.

Bill Adama found himself tuning out the others as well as he looked into the president's eyes, and he too felt the anxiety and frustration he knew she was experiencing. They had to act quickly: the longer it took to decide their next move, the harder their people would take it. Furthermore, there were the Cylons to consider. Whether the humans liked it or not, they had a truce to uphold. If they went against it, Adama knew it would probably mean their end.

He desperately wanted to speak with Roslin alone as well. He'd hardly seen her at all since they began this rodeo, and he feared one of the reasons things had gotten so out of hand was because they weren't on the same page. Major decisions needed to be made right away, and if the fleet's two most prominent leaders were making them without each other... he didn't even want to think about what sort of trouble they'd find themselves in.

"Maybe we should just make an announcement outlining what happened and we're working on our next move," Roslin suggested. "Deflect until we're all a bit more capable of handling the workload in front of us."

"We shouldn't be too specific," Adama said. "Kara's right: if the people know we were deliberately attacked, they'll see it as an act of war. We should just say there were some setbacks, and avoid implying there were hostile events."

Suddenly, Sharon gasped and pressed her hand to her temple, bringing an abrupt halt to the debate. Her husband's hands immediately went to her shoulders to steady her. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Sharon blinked several times and gave her head a quick shake, and when she looked up again, seemed perfectly fine. "Yeah... yeah, I'm okay," she assured the onlookers. "I just felt dizzy all of a sudden."

Puzzled, Kara commented, "I don't get it. You're a Cylon. You've always had more strength and endurance than any of us."

"It could be the time she spent on the _Fate's Embrace_," Helo said. "The ship fraks with you, even more so now that we know what ship it is."

The _Fate's Embrace_ had once been the flagship of the Cylon fleet. It led the attack against the Colonies, was the first to locate the humans on New Caprica, and even turned against its own at the hands of the Cavil model. The basestar struck fear into the mind of human and Cylon alike, and if it were not for how great their need, Adama would have seen to its destruction long ago. Besides its superior firepower, the _Embrace_ had technology far more advanced than any Colonial ship when it came to critical processes like water purification and fuel refinery, not to mention the superior Cylon computers and navigation systems. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and allowing that ship into their fleet was certainly an act of desperation. Whether they liked it or not, the truth of the matter was that Cylon technology was going to keep their fleet moving.

A ring sounded from another section of Adama's quarters, providing a welcome distraction. He excused himself, walked over to his desk, and plucked the phone off the wall. "Yes?"

"Admiral," came the raspy voice of Doc Cottle. "Tom Zarek's just woken up from surgery. He wants to see the President."

_I don't want him to see her_, Adama thought, but of course did not vocalize that sentiment. It didn't matter how he felt. His hands were tied. They'd been in here too long with too little progress, and after mulling it over a moment, he realized he'd be better off if Roslin went to see Zarek right now. It was either this, or he could wait until she started asking about him.

"We'll be right there."


	11. Trust in Me

**16 January 2011 **- What the frak, has it really been two years since my last update? Fail; ur doin it rite. So much has changed... I'm not abandoning this story, I promise, but with everything going on in my life, side projects have dropped further down the list of things that are important. I have a few more chapters ready to go, and, like I've said a few times, the outline for the whole thing was finished three years ago - so as much as it doesn't look that way, I REALLY AM going somewhere with this! ;) Stay tuned. I don't foresee a hiatus as bad as the last one any time in the future. On with the show...

**CHAPTER TEN**

**Trust in Me**

**Battlestar _Galactica_**

**In orbit around Jupiter**

Slowly, but surely, Tom Zarek was starting to piece together what happened.

The events on Earth were little more than a blur, covered by a drug-induced haze that blocked most of the details. The last thing he remembered was going into shock aboard the _Celestial Mariner_. There'd been panic, confusion, urgency, and there was blood everywhere – _his_ blood. Laura Roslin had been holding his hand the moment he lost consciousness. He'd taken a bullet for her. Where was she?

"Laura?" was the first coherent word to escape his lips the moment he realized he could move again. He desperately hoped she was safe. He had a lot riding on a role only she could play, and if anything had happened to her, he was as good as dead, too.

The craggy face of Doc Cottle standing over him told Zarek that he was aboard the _Galactica_. "Don't get worked up," the gruff doctor ordered. "You've lost a lot of blood." As he could read his mind, the doctor added, "She's with Admiral Adama and a few other officers, deciding on a course of action."

Zarek could hear the electronic beep of a heart rate monitor beating faster than what one would have considered normal, so he took a few deep breaths to steady himself. The beep slowed. "How long have I been out?"

"Five hours. The bullet tore up your shoulder pretty bad, your collarbone especially. Looked like the work of a sniper from above."

Zarek hadn't thought about anything so precise as the angle of the attack, but if Cottle was right – as he usually was – then his injuries were certainly consistent with a shot from a high place aiming down. Besides, it had been meant for Roslin's head, which was around the same level as his shoulders. "You're probably right. I... I can't remember much."

Cottle snorted. "I'm not surprised. You must have blacked out a good ten minutes before we got to you. You might never fully remember – not that you'd _want_ to, either."

"I want to see Laura Roslin."

"Adama made it very clear that he didn't want to be interrupted."

"Adama won't shoot the messenger," Zarek replied. "He probably won't shoot me, either. It's unoriginal."

Cottle arched a bushy eyebrow, then turned and walked away, muttering under his breath. His face was expressionless when he returned a few minutes later. "They're on their way."

The vice-president couldn't help but noticed Cottle's use of the word "they," and gave a small, amused grin. When was Bill Adama ever going to do anything but exactly what Zarek thought he would?

* * *

Laura Roslin arrived in sickbay about five minutes after Cottle placed the call to the admiral's quarters, and just as Zarek expected, Bill Adama was right by her side. Cottle excused himself when the admiral and president came in, using the excuse of business to attend to elsewhere, and thus avoiding the need for them to ask for privacy. _Smart man, Cottle_, Zarek thought. Maybe they should have sent _him_ to Earth.

"Madam President, Admiral Adama," Zarek said as the two of them approached his bed. Two chairs sat on either side; Roslin lowered herself into one of them, and Adama ignored the other and opted to stand by the president's side. They both looked like hell. He hoped some progress had been made while he was out. "How do things look?"

"Not good, I'm afraid," Roslin admitted. "I think our best option is to deflect and try to buy some time with the people: tell them there were some setbacks, and we're exploring several options."

"And what are these 'options'?" Zarek inquired.

"Nothing specific yet," Adama said. "Terraforming the star system's fourth planet and going back to the Colonies were thrown out, both of which I would endorse."

Zarek frowned and shook his head. "No. It has to be Earth. This administration will lose a lot of ground if we don't bring our people there like we've promised. Earth is the only home we can give them right now."

"Don't make this about politics!" Adama returned, his voice considerably harsher than he intended. "We are talking about _lives_, about the future of our people, not what sort of turn the polls might take or what it'll mean for the next election!"

"Enough!" Roslin said before things could take the ugly turn she sensed coming. "I agree with both of you. We did promise the people Earth, and it doesn't look like we have somewhere to go where anyone in this fleet will have a normal life again within this generation or the next. However, we lost a lot of good people before by settling on a planet before we knew it was safe to do so. I doubt anyone will have forgotten that fact, and they might be more willing to give us some time."

A tense silence followed Roslin's statement, marked by Zarek and Adama shooting harsh looks at each other. Finally, Zarek changed the subject with an inquiry. "Where is my ship?"

"It's back with the fleet," answered the admiral. "Caprica-Six is with it. She'll stay there until Doc Cottle says you can go back." He shifted his weight, and then, in more of an effort to make amends with Roslin for the exchange of heated words than to clear the air with her understudy, added, "Zarek, what you did on Earth to protect the president... I was wrong. I wouldn't have figured you for the kind of man who would..."

Roslin impulsively reached for Zarek's good hand. His expression softened at her touch. "You weren't there with us on New Caprica," she said tenderly, and gave her vice-president a grateful smile.

Any compassion Adama felt for the other man in the light of his act of heroism vanished at that moment. All he could feel as he watched Roslin and Zarek gazing into each others' eyes, recalling a connection only they shared, was a seething jealousy, coupled with a wondering as to why the envy was rising in the first place. Laura Roslin didn't _belong_ to him. Yes, he had strong feelings for her, and he knew she felt something in return, but it wasn't a topic they discussed. Maybe when the time was right, but that time certainly wasn't now: not when the people they'd led through the very fires of hell so desperately needed their guidance, here at the very end. Nothing could distract them from this goal, and when it was achieved, nothing would distract them from each other... _especially_ not Tom Zarek.

Still, he felt oddly threatened by the way they were looking at each other.

"We need to issue that statement," Roslin said after what felt like an eternity to Adama, and slowly released Zarek's hand. "Bill, if it's not too much trouble, may I do it here aboard _Galactica_?"

"I was about to propose that you did." Adama wasn't comfortable with the idea of her leaving his ship just yet. He wanted to keep her close in these critical hours, in case something suddenly came up. Furthermore, she was looking worse with every passing moment. The long day was taking its toll on her already-weakened body. If anything were to happen to her, he didn't know what he'd do. He'd already lost one best friend...

With that thought on his mind, Adama sighed and turned his attention to the vice-president. It was time to shoot the metaphorical elephant in the room. "And what about the Cylons?"

"You let _me_ worry about the Cylons," Zarek replied. "I may be the only one D'Anna trusts at this point, and not even that is certain."

Adama's face was stone. "If they found anything that could help us with Earth, we need to know; otherwise we need the _Render and Requiem_ back here."

"You think _I _don't know that, or understand what's at stake?" Zarek challenged. "Whose side do you think I'm on, anyway?" He paused, then added, "Who _else _has to die before you'll believe me?"

The admiral stood. "We're done here. Madam President, if you'll excuse me, I'll prepare CIC for your broadcast."

A muscle in Roslin's cheek was twitching as Adama shot one last dirty look at the vice-president before storming out. She closed her eyes and massaged her temples for a few moments, and when she was finished, her sympathy for Zarek was gone as well. "You just _had_ to go there now, didn't you?"

"Yes, well, leaving well enough alone was never something I was good at, and he walked right into that one when he asked about the Cylons," he stated. "Saul Tigh never believed in anything his entire life until he and I spoke to my ship's Hybrid, just before the battle. _He_ convinced _me_. That ship is out there, but D'Anna is going to have a hell of a time finding it unless Adama gives her what I asked."

Roslin was incredulous. "You honestly think Bill Adama knows the way to find something he doesn't even believe is real?"

"Earth was just a story, too, remember?" Zarek countered. He grimaced as a surge of pain struck him; when it passed, he continued, "Six told me about the dreams you two have been sharing with Sharon Agathon, about the opera house on Kobol. They always said Hera was the key, but the key to what?"

The president shifted uneasily in her chair. Nothing about Tom Zarek surprised her anymore, but that didn't mean he couldn't give her the creeps. "I didn't realize how much our dreams interested you, Tom."

"Well, they didn't; not at first, anyway," Zarek admitted, "but Colonel Tigh changed my mind, and when his son was born I knew I couldn't let it go. There's something a lot bigger than all of us at stake here, and the only thing I know for sure is that the opera house ties it all together."

Roslin sighed. She'd hoped this would end once they found Earth, but it seemed they were only slightly better off now than when they were at war with the Cylons. "You're treading on dangerous ground – you know that, right?"

"You know who you're _talking_ to, right?"

He had a point. "What do you want from me, Tom?"

"The information Adama obtained from Cavil's baseship during the battle," Zarek answered. "Cavil was on to something, and whatever he learned was making him even more bitter and spiteful than he was from the beginning. I know it has something to do with Earth, Pythia, and the opera house. _Everything_ is connected, Laura. All of this has happened before, and if we can find out why, we can stop it from happening again. _You_ can get to him. He trusts you."

"And you have no idea what I had to do to _earn_ that trust. I am not going to reopen that wound unless I know it will go somewhere." She sighed, looked at the floor, and then back at him. "This isn't the first time you've saved my life, Tom, and I haven't forgotten that. I'll do what I can to help you, but it won't be quick. We have to focus on the problem in front of us, and I can't risk him shutting me out."

His face remained expressionless; he feared he'd give himself away if he showed his relief. It hadn't been easy to convince D'Anna to refrain from killing Laura Roslin, but now it looked like the investment in her life was going to pay off. Roslin couldn't guarantee anything, and Zarek understood that, but she had something he never did: a chance.

"Thank you, Laura," he said, and meant it. She smiled, visibly forced, but a smile nonetheless. He almost returned it, but it changed into a grimace as a jolt of pain went through him. "Frak," he muttered. Not only did it hurt, it reminded him of why he was in this situation in the first place. "Stupid frakking Earth."

"Doctor?" Roslin called, glancing around for any sign of Cottle.

It was the comely medic, Layne Ishay, who answered the summons instead. "Dr. Cottle is tending to Corporal Sykes. He asked me to give Mr. Zarek his pain medication."

"Sykes..." Roslin knew that was the name of a Marine who'd been with them, and remembered it coming up again while Kara Thrace was speaking during the debrief. "He was one of our injured."

"Yes, Madam President," Ishay confirmed, and elaborated as she prepared an injection of morpha. "There's some redness and swelling in the area he was hit, and he appears fine now that he's awake, but Dr. Cottle wants to keep him overnight for surveillance." She pressed the needle into Zarek's arm and injected its contents. "Blood work hasn't come back yet. We have no idea what they put in him, and whether or not there could be a delayed reaction."

Zarek relaxed as the morpha worked its way through his system, and gazed at Roslin as she spoke with the medic. Ishay excused herself, and the president turned her attention back to him. "Better?"

"Define 'better,'" her second groaned in reply, and rocked back and forth uncomfortably. He stopped squirming, sighed, and stared at the wall above Roslin's head. "Frak me," he grumbled.

Roslin looked down at her hands as a new rush of guilt overcame her. Zarek had to have known his injuries were the least that would happen the moment he decided to place her life above his. She was alive because he took that chance. How could she possibly repay him?

Suddenly, Zarek laughed. "Gods, listen to me. You'd think I'd never been shot before."

"How many times _have_ you been shot?" Roslin asked.

"I've been shot _at _more times than I care to remember, but this is the fourth hit," he answered. "It's been a long time since a bullet got me. Didn't think it was something you could forget."

"I'm not surprised," said the president with a wistful sigh. "Twenty-five years is a long time to go without feeling something, even something like that."

Zarek strongly suspected that Roslin was hearkening back to some personal experience, and it wasn't gunshot wounds. "You're very pretty, you know that?" he suddenly blurted out.

Roslin snorted. It seemed like she'd heard that today from everyone except the one she wanted to say it most. Oddly enough, hearing it from Zarek felt like the next best thing. "Tell me that again sometime when you're not on drugs," she responded, and patted his arm. "I'm going to go make that statement. I'll check on you before I go back to my ship."

He said nothing as she left, just smiled and nodded. The morhpa's effects were overtaking him, and the things going through his mind vanished in a drugged haze. The only fully coherent thought was the one that had driven most of his decisions in the last few weeks: _She'll find the Ship of Lights, and when she does, we'll know why the Hybrid was so afraid of Earth._

* * *

Roslin's aide, Olivia, was waiting for the president outside sickbay. She'd been in CIC since the _Celestial Mariner_ landed, deflecting the inquiries coming in from the rest of the fleet about what had happened on Earth. Roslin assumed Adama had sent her over to see what was taking so long. The guess proved correct when Olivia spoke. "The admiral wanted me to make sure you were all right," the young woman said. "He seems like he's worried about you."

_Of course he's worried_, Roslin thought, and couldn't help feeling a little smug. She wasn't naïve. She knew a lot more about what went on beneath the surface than the men in her life gave her credit for, and she knew exactly what this was about: Bill Adama was jealous of Tom Zarek. Sooner or later, she'd have to sit him down and tell that there was nothing for him to worry about... or rather, show him, since she could think of several different ways to explain the situation that didn't involve words. Unfortunately, plotting her seduction of the admiral would have to wait: there were a lot of things that needed to be done before then.

"And I can see why," Olivia continued. "You've been pushing yourself too hard, Madam President."

"It's just been a long, trying day," Roslin replied. "None of us are operating at our peak right now."

She hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt. The excitement with Zarek proved sufficiently distracting, but now that it was over, she was again acutely aware of the day's toll on her fragile body. She felt light-headed, found it difficult to stand without concentration, and noticed that her hands were shaking. _Just a long day_, she reiterated in her mind. _Even the Cylon was feeling it._ There was no need to think anything out of the ordinary was happening to her.

Olivia either accepted the response or got the hint to drop it; at any rate, she didn't bring it up again. They made small talk on the way back to CIC, and when they reached their destination, split up: Olivia to continue her diplomatic way of handling incoming transmissions, and Roslin to the center toward Adama. The other officers from their meeting had returned to duty, and acknowledged her with respectful nods as she took her place at the admiral's side. Not many would have noticed that there was something wrong just by looking at Adama's face, but the president was one of the few who could. She knew she would have to put his mind at ease, and yet couldn't help but appreciate the irony in the situation: in a way, wasn't he doing earlier the exact same thing she'd done just now – making decisions with a Cylon without the other present?

_The difference is you're not going to tell him everything that was said between you and Tom Zarek_.

Roslin pushed the thought to the back of her mind and gave Adama the most sincere smile she could muster. He didn't buy it. "What took you so long?" he inquired, though his urgent tone made it seem more like a demand. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she returned, and suddenly felt defensive. She didn't _belong_ to him. Why did he get so worked up every time she was out of his sight? "Zarek just needed to say a few things, but he's so drugged up on pain medication right now that he didn't make much sense."

Adama didn't think Zarek needed the excuse of pain medication to not make much sense, but he kept his thoughts on that matter to himself. "We're ready when you are," he said gently, hoping to make up for his unexpected harshness in greeting. _Get a grip on yourself_, he thought. _We're all tired, disappointed, and confused. Don't take it out on the one person who understands._

Roslin responded with a strained smile, knowing she would never be ready for this and that it would be better to just do it and be done. "It's time."

Adama picked up the corded receiver and held it out to her. She accepted it with a trembling hand, took a deep breath, and spoke into the microphone. "Citizens of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, this is your president."

* * *

**NASA Ames Research Center**

**Mountain View, California**

Five hours had passed since the incident at Kadena Air Base, and for five hours, radio analyst Jeremy Adler had been waiting for something to happen.

Adler was part of a top-secret team, handpicked by NASA administrator Dinakar Tempas himself, to remain in the control center for the _Palenque_ and _Archon_ space probes round-the-clock and gather any information they could on this "alien space fleet" near Jupiter. While the security clearance and nature of the mission was exciting at first, Adler's job was relatively dull by comparison. There had been an adrenaline rush when contact was made at Kadena, but the happenings there didn't alter their objective, and now he was bored again. All the interesting things were in the optical spectrum. Since the team was assembled, he'd gotten one faint reading, and that was over two days ago. If there was a point to sitting here, scanning the sky for some sort of radio signal from these ships over and over again, Adler had yet to see it.

_Now I know how they feel at SETI. _Except now that aliens appeared, SETI was no longer the laughingstock of the scientific community – or at least wouldn't be once this information was declassified. Dinakar Tempas was on the fast track to becoming astronomy's biggest pariah now: spending millions of dollars to borrow satellites and keep people quiet, and expecting his analysts to handle the situation like they'd done it before. Maybe if that damn quantum computer he was so famous for developing actually worked somewhere _other_ than the space station, they might have made some progress.

Adler heaved a sigh and stood up to stretch. The movement attracted the attention of one of his colleagues, Brendan Lane, who was at the station for _Archon_'s optical equipment. "How you holding up,?" Lane asked.

"Bored as hell," Adler replied. "Babysit this for a second, will you? I'm gonna go smoke."

He only got halfway to the door before the sound of static filled his ears and every monitor at his workstation lit up with the image of an incoming signal. Adler rushed back to his computers, threw on his headset, and began fine-tuning the frequency. He was immediately joined by Lane and their lead analyst, Will Marcott. "What do you have, Adler?" Marcott asked.

"_It's Palenque_. They're definitely transmitting something," Adler answered. "This is the strongest signal I've seen yet – it must be going out to all the ships." One wavelength was marginally more clear than the others, so Adler stopped his equipment on that one and boosted the volume. A female voice could be heard if one strained his ears; however, what she was saying sounded like complete gibberish: _dikúr... kobol... lúbarra... inimsùd__...__ inimzu..._

"I can't make any sense of this," Adler said. "Do you know if they had any luck understanding what they said at Kadena?"

Marcott shook his head. "Just 'Earth.' General Bagalayos was making progress with their leader, but it all went to hell when the sniper took out their man."

"Can you clear up the signal at all?" asked Lane.

"'Fraid not," was Adler's response. "_Palenque_ can broadcast a signal, but it wasn't really designed to receive any other than our own. We got lucky." Dinakar Tempas really _was_ an idiot, Adler had decided. The man knew what _Palenque_ was designed to do, and it was certainly not to moonlight as a radio telescope.

"Tempas will have to be satisfied with this, then," Marcott said. "Confirm the frequency and get it to HQ. Anything happening in the optical spectrum?"

"Not since the giant metal starfish reappeared," replied Lane.

"Stay on it. If _anything_ changes, I want to know."

Lane nodded and returned to his station, and Marcott focused his full attention on Adler's wild card. "As soon as this broadcast has finished, get a copy to General Bagalayos at Kadena. Her radio analysts won't be able to do anything we can't, but it could get some sort of reaction out of that alien they captured."

For a few moments, the only sounds in the room were the fuzzy signal from their satellite and the click of Adler's keyboard as he rapidly entered commands. Suddenly, the voice stopped. The static continued for a moment, and then came the indistinguishable words but distinct sound of commotion. In the midst of what could only be a scream, the entire signal cut out.

"What the hell just happened?" asked Marcott.

"It went dead," was Adler's weak answer. "I... I don't know. Something must have happened on their end."

Judging by what little of the reaction they'd heard, Marcott doubted that was how the alien broadcast was supposed to finish. "Get Dinakar Tempas on the phone. _Now_!"

* * *

**Battlestar _Galactica_**

**In orbit around Jupiter**

"As you know, several days ago, a team of military personnel from _Galactica _went to Earth on a reconnaissance mission," Roslin spoke into the microphone. "The primary objectives of the mission were to determine if human civilization was present on Earth, and find their largest city so we might make contact with their leaders. _Galactica's_ team was successful on both counts. This afternoon, a delegation of civilian and military leaders that included myself, Vice President Zarek, and Admiral Adama, attempted to use the information gathered and make contact. Our goal was, in any way we could, to inform the people of Earth that we meant them no harm and want nothing but a place to call home.

"I regret to inform you that this mission was not as successful as the first. We were able to make direct contract with a military leader on Earth, at which point we discovered that the language used by the Earth-humans was drastically different from our own. It's possible it was simply a regional dialect that we encountered, and there are other people who know our common language of Kobol. There was a time all the tribes of humanity walked and spoke together, and in my heart, I trust that they would not have let our words pass out of their minds forever."

Roslin was relieved to find that she actually _did_ believe what she was saying about the Earth language. It was logical. She wasn't a linguist, but she did know enough history to know that even though the Colonists spoke many different languages after leaving Kobol, the dominant speech was still very closely related to their ancestral tongue. The thirteenth tribe _had_ to know it would one day encounter the others again. They couldn't have been so foolish as to let their main language evolve into something utterly unrecognizable.

She met Adama's eyes before continuing. He smiled reassuringly, and she felt more of her anxiety fade. She knew he believed in her. His faith was the strength her mind and body had lost over the course of the grueling day, and with it, she could hold out long enough to deliver the bad news.

"The events that took place on the surface did not go entirely as planned," she said. "I was successfully communicating with the Earth military leader using a combination of simple words and gestures, but we were unable to get far. We also have evidence that there may be some groups on Earth who would treat us with hostility. Until we know how to communicate, we may not be able to convince them we mean no harm."

She paused a moment, feeling short of breath. She feared Olivia was right, and that she _had_ driven herself too far. Making a mental vow to rest after this, she inhaled deeply and continued. "I know you all remember the mistake we made before: settling on a new planet before we knew it was safe. I know it's been a long, hard journey, and though we have indeed reached Earth, it cannot be our sanctuary yet. We are not the only ones involved. This administration will not allow more bloodshed. We will be doing everything in our power to overcome the obstacles ahead of us, and ask for your patience and understanding in this matter. When the t..."

Her voice trailed off, and she froze, unable to blink, breathe, or do anything besides stare straight ahead. Her eyes rolled back, and the microphone fell from her limp hand. All was silent until it hit the floor, and a heartbeat later, Laura Roslin followed.

* * *

_In case you haven't figured it out yet, in this version, Tom Zarek is the final Cylon. Contrary to what the frequency of updates may indicate, this story was completely outlined before Episode 4.08 aired, and changing things to fit canon messes with my evil plans. Also, we had a pool going on who the last Cylon was, and I lost about $20 betting on Zarek. I reject your reality and substitute my own. :-)_


End file.
